


Susannah Still Alive

by SmokeAndEmber



Category: Southern Vampire Mysteries - Charlaine Harris, True Blood
Genre: All Human, F/M, Horror, Murder Mystery, Paranormal, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2018-11-02 18:09:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 135,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10949949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmokeAndEmber/pseuds/SmokeAndEmber
Summary: Death follows you... Just as you follow it. It wants you.A year and a half after suffering great loss, Sookie has returned to Lake Douglas - home of the Stackhouse family cabin and many happy childhood memories.Sookie hopes that life nestled in the pristine woodlands beside the lake will help her heal and discover who she really is, but immediately she finds herself dragged into the center of a chilling series of mysteries that have haunted the nearby town of Douglas for two decades.As dark forces threaten to tear apart her sanity and safety, Sookie quickly discovers her life is no longer a matter of healing, but a matter of survival.





	1. Second Home(coming)

**Author's Note:**

> This is all-human. It has a paranormal element. This story can't decide if it's a horror, a drama/romance, or a murder mystery... So, just expect all three. 
> 
> I'm still slowly chipping away at a little coda for 'A Change of Worlds' but I've been sitting on this story for over a year. It's nearly finished. It's currently at 90,000 words and 26 chapters. I plan to post one chapter per week until I've finished writing the story (which I expect to be 30-32 chapters in total) and then move on to a posting schedule of 2-3 chapters per week.

**Chapter 1: Second Home(coming)**

“Glad you worked out which hometown you really belong to,” Terry said as he flashed me a good-natured grin and wink over his shoulder. I followed him across the store towards the bank of glass-doored refrigerators that lined the back wall. 

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Terry. It’ll take a lot to cure me of my southern ways. No doubt the first big blizzard up at the cabin and you’ll find me racing straight back to Louisiana, tail between my legs.” 

We retrieved the two chilled and stuffed bags of groceries I’d pre-ordered and he helped me load them in the back of Alcide’s truck. My train of thought hiccupped as soon as I thought his name. It wasn’t Alcide’s anymore – it was my truck. That was taking a good while to get used to. Terry slapped the tailgate twice after locking it into place. 

“Well, I stopped by the cabin this morning before opening up the store and turned on the electric heating for you. I also set the fire, just in case it wasn’t enough. The rest of the non-perishables you ordered are on the kitchen counter. I have to say Sook, the house is looking ship shape. Mitchell and Adele would be proud.” 

“I can’t wait to see it. It’s all I’ve been thinking about this last month.” I shifted back on my heels, casting a glance up to the low, hilly range that drew around the sleepy town of Douglas. My cabin was waiting for me there, nestled just over the hills amongst the snow-dusted pines. “I’m so grateful for everything you’ve helped me with, Terry.” I patted his arm in thanks. 

“I'll hear nothing of it, Sook,” he said, running the back of his hand self-consciously across his scruffy salt and pepper beard. “We look after our own here at Lake Douglas. Now Arlene is waiting on your call to have you over for dinner. She’s chomping at the bit to welcome you back to town. She makes a hell of a lamb roast, so don’t wait too long.”

“How sweet of her. Tell her I’ll give her a call in a few days once I’m finished unpacking and all settled in.”

Terry handed me the spare set of cabin keys the contractors had left with him and I made him promise to charge all my groceries to my account at the store. I wouldn’t put it past him to let my shopping bill slip by uncharged as a welcoming gift. 

We said our goodbyes and as I climbed into the front seat of the truck, Terry called back out to me. “Hold up, Sook! I nearly forgot - did Tara tell you that there’s company next door?” He was hanging his head out the entrance of his store, shielding his eyes against the morning sunshine.

“You mean at that new AirBnB place?” I called back. A vague memory came to mind of Tara telling me someone was shacking up in the new fancy rental next door. There were a handful cabins and homes along the windy road where the Stackhouse family cabin resided. As far as I knew, only one home along my stretch had permanent residents – an older couple I had yet to meet. They were two houses to the south of me, closer towards town. Most of the homes and cabins up that way were short term rentals or out of towners who frequented on weekends or for the odd vacation. Although, I had been aware a new rental place had been built next door to the north of my cabin.

“That’s the one. Some out of towner... From Europe maybe? Thought I best tell you so you don’t get a fright.”

“Who is he? A ski bum or something?”

“Don’t think so. We’ve hardly seen hide or hair of him in town and he’s been there a few months. Don’t think he’ll be too much of a bother. Keeps to himself, but I hear he’s nice enough.”

“Now that’s what I’d call a perfect neighbor. Catch you soon, Terry.” 

Half an hour and twenty slow, winding miles north, I pulled off Little Bank Road and onto my graveled driveway. I was practically thrumming with excitement, my fingers beating impatiently against the steering wheel as I pulled in. Bonnie seemed to notice my sudden spike in mood and lifted her shaggy head off the back seat of the truck, her nose pricked up in curiosity, scenting the air. 

“Decided it’s time to finally wake up, Bonnie?” I said, smiling at her form in the rear view mirror. I parked out front, ignoring the newly added garage at the side of the log cabin. It would be easier for now for me to haul my things directly through the front door, rather than use the side entrance that led into the kitchen. 

I ignored all the unpacking work ahead and instead clipped Bonnie’s lead on. She jumped from the backseat and let her nose lead the way through the garden and around to the lakefront facing side of the house. Her snout darted eagerly over the fresh snow, the lead pulling taut as she picked up a scent, her bushy tail wagging furiously. 

She was a lean and big dog – huge, in fact. When up on her hind legs she towered over me, but she was as sweet-natured and cuddly as a teddy bear. All very typical of a Scottish Deerhound. And while she wasn’t a particularly excitable pup, she was still young and the scent of any small critter would be enough for her to dash off into the woods without a second thought. For now, her lead would need to stay on every time we were outdoors.

I took a deep lungful of mountain air as we walked. It was deliciously fresh, both new and nostalgic. Clean pine and crisp snow peppered with the faint strains of wood smoke. Bonnie pulled me across the clearing and finally deemed a tall pine along the treeline worthy of doing her business. I let out a tired sigh of content, taking in the views of the thick forest and the lake further down the hill. It had been a long road trip, I was glad to be here.

A thin column of smoke rose from above the trees a few hundred yards to the north-east. I guessed that was the location of the new fancy cabin that had been built a couple of years back. I couldn’t see anything from here though, the woods were too thick - and aside from the rental neighbor’s driveway, which ran parallel to mine from the road for maybe ten yards before diverging away, it was impossible to tell anyone even lived nearby. 

It was perfect. Solitude with the safety of knowing someone was close by in case anything happened. I figured I’d have to go down and introduce myself to the mysterious recluse at some point. I could even bake something for him, I realized with a thrill. I had time now and it had been far too long since I’d indulged in baking. 

My heart clenched unexpectedly as I thought back to the last time I baked for someone. The memories were fond, but the painful ache it left behind wasn’t. I gave the lead a gentle tug guiding Bonnie back toward the cabin, eager not to follow those thoughts back into their familiar dark hole. I made quick work of the boxes and grocery bags in the back of the truck and stacked them neatly in the entry way inside the house. I pulled the heavy oak door firmly shut behind me and I unlaced my boots, kicking them off beside the nylon mat. 

I’d need to buy a more suitable entry mat for both inside and outside the front door. Otherwise mud would quickly make a mess of the entryway. I hung up Bonnie’s leash on the coat hooks beside the door and followed her out into the living area, carrying my groceries. Bonnie took off sniffing out the new environment and I came to a stop, taking in my surroundings. 

“Sweet Lord…” I breathed. The old Stackhouse family cabin was no longer the dusty and outdated log cabin I remembered from childhood. The living area was bright and airy, the wooden walls freshly oiled, and the large stonework fireplace standing proud with not a crumbling stone in sight. Large double glazed windows dominated the front of the living room which faced the lake, the glass rising floor to ceiling and tapering to a triangular point at the top.

The photos the contractor sent through when they’d finished their work still weren’t enough to do this amazing space an ounce of justice. I walked past the living area and into the kitchen. It was ready and gleaming, with cream and bronze speckled granite benchtops, a new gas cooker large enough to feed a family of ten, pine stools sitting at an island bench at the center of the slate floored kitchen.

I set the groceries and my car keys on the nearest bench and then walked through the rest of the bottom floor of the cabin – the dining nook, bathroom, two downstairs bedrooms. All wonderfully restored. The door frame on the bedroom Jason and I had once shared was polished, but not so much that our carved graffiti was sanded completely away. _JS & SS ’93_. I thumbed the engraving with a wistful smile. 

The cabin was furnished with a hodge-podge mix of old and new. When I’d repurchased the home, much of Gran and Grandpa’s furniture had been found locked up in the basement, stored safely away after all these years. Apparently, the previous owners hadn’t been bothered enough to do away with them. I’d saved my favorite of the bunch to be kept in the home and donated the rest. But still, I could hardly reconcile the vacation home I now stood in against the one I spent every summer and most Christmases in as a child. While I had agonized over every decision in the last six months relating to the refurbishment of the home, to be finally standing here in the flesh… It was surreal. 

I headed upstairs to the loft style master bedroom that had once been Gran and Grandpa’s. I ran my hand along the walls, feeling every bump and whorl in the wood as I walked the steps. 

If Terry was right about Grandpa Mitchell being proud of the life I was able to breathe back into his beloved cabin, then Alcide would have been even prouder at the way I had managed to make it all come together. I guess his years behind the helm of Herveaux Constructions had somehow rubbed off on me a little. He’d always had such good tastes when it came to this sort of thing.

I stood at the windows from Grandpa and Gran’s bedroom, now my bedroom, and took in the broad view of Lake Douglas. A cool mist hovered over the forest, with snow-dusted pines rising like tall ghosts around the gray lake. It was a decent half hour walk to get down to the lake shore from the cabin, and much longer coming back up the hill thanks to the burning climb, but the views afforded by the cabin’s vantage point made living at such a distance worthwhile. The areas surrounding the lake were national park anyway, so this was as close as anyone could get to a lakeside cabin here at Lake Douglas. Even the town was situated several miles away from the lake itself.

Several hours of unpacking and one pair of aching feet later, I reclined in the blessedly deep bath in my upstairs en suite. I enjoyed long baths back in Louisiana, but the climate here was much better suited to long stints in the tub. Twilight was falling rapidly over my little corner of the world, and I could see from the glass skylight above me that the cloud cover which had settled in the afternoon had finally cleared, small pinpricks of starlight heralding the end of another day. I sank gratefully into the heat of the water, allowing myself to finally relax for the first time since arriving.

In the space of eight hours I had almost entirely organized and unpacked all of my belongings and prepped and organized the majority of my meals for the following week. 

I prided myself on my organization, although Alcide thought I was tidy to a fault, but it was just the way I ticked. I compartmentalized and organized everything: my life, activities and even my mental state. It got me through childhood, through law school, and it mostly got me through the last 18 months… But I guess something had to give. 

Being here was my chance to loosen up. Stuck in my early thirties as a tightly wound, widowed and overworked lawyer was not something I’d ever envisioned. I was curious to get to know the Sookie who didn’t define herself solely by her rules and rituals. No, I wasn’t going to be living here at the lake forever, but I wanted to make the coming months a worthwhile experience. 

It was funny that for all our bullheadedness and circular arguing, it was Alcide’s death that got me to finally realize maybe there was some truth in his criticisms against me. It wasn’t ha-ha funny, but it was funny all the same....Truthfully, it was damn deplorable that it took such a tragic event for me to open my eyes. 

I was startled out of my reverie as a shrieking scream echoed out from somewhere deep within the woods. Water sloshed over the lip of the tub as I suddenly sat up, my fingers sliding as I nearly lost grip of my wine glass. My breath came to a ragged halt and I listened closely for the sounds of anything else outside, maybe something closer. A few pounding heartbeats later, a second bloodcurdling scream followed, shrill and panicked as if someone, a woman maybe, was hurt or in danger. The wail resounded eerily across the lake and valley.

I nearly jumped out of the bath to call the sheriff, but I was suddenly brought back in time to a memory of me and Jason as kids leaping up the stairs, two at a time, to jump into bed with Gran and Grandpa, terrified by the exact same sound. A fox, Grandpa had informed us; their scream sounded just like a woman’s, nothing to worry about while we were tucked up safely inside and in bed. 

I let out a puff of nervous laughter and settled back down in the bath, allowing myself a moment to calm down. I’d forgotten the strange and oftentimes terrifying sounds that the woods surrounding Lake Douglas emitted. It was all normal and expected when living in the middle of nowhere. Still, I couldn’t shake the eerie feeling, my tranquil mood was now ruined.

I attempted a few more minutes in the bath, focusing on steadying my breathing and letting go again. I couldn’t shake the feeling. It was like that uncomfortable prickle you got when being watched. Watched by something close. Silly really, considering that with the wooden Venetian blinds shut it was more or less impossible to look into the small confines of my bathroom, not counting the skylight.

I gave myself a mental talking to as I got out of the bath. I was here to finish grieving and begin moving on, not to conjure up more ghosts. I had plenty of my own, thank you very much.


	2. Bad Neighbors

The next day and a half passed quietly, serenely even, as I made myself at home. I scrubbed the place from top to bottom, arranged and rearranged furniture, and even made a batch of snickerdoodles ready to greet my new neighbor. Bonnie wasted no time making herself at home, camping by the living room fire more often than not, and watching me as I busied myself around the cabin. She was a lazy dog but I appreciated her sweet, calming disposition. I'd always secretly guessed that was why Alcide picked her particular breed. It was certainly not for her guard dog abilities, that was for sure.

It was the morning of my second full day at the cabin when the usual quiet was interrupted by the sounds of wood chopping. I had stepped out to the woodshed to retrieve another armload of logs for the fire when I paused with my ear to the wind, trying to guess which direction the noise was coming from. Somewhere closer to the road, near the driveways. It didn’t have the recognizable stop and start rhythm that came from splitting firewood, this was someone lopping down a tree. 

“C’mon Bonnie,” I said after depositing the logs in the basket by the fireplace. “Time to meet the new neighbor, I guess.” I zipped my goose down parka up to my neck, tucked my messy bun into a beanie and slipped on a pair of matching gloves, teal blue. 

We set off up the driveway, Tupperware container of cookies under my arm and the sun beating down on us. Our breath left misty puffs of condensation as we walked and I couldn’t help but smile, it was exactly what my Daddy would have called a bluebird day. The sky blue and sunny as could be, the snow that had arrived overnight was fresh and white. Winter hadn’t quite hit in full force but when it did, I couldn’t wait to get out with the skis and explore the national park. We were situated too low to catch majority of the snowfall overnight, but I’d bet my left leg the ski fields up on Mt. Voss were boasting perfect conditions today.

Bonnie pulled as far ahead as the lead could manage, long legs loping along with excitement, her shaggy gray mane bouncing up and down as she walked. It was still too early to let her off the lead here. She wasn’t skittish but she was still excitable while walking. I figured another week or so of exploring the area on the lead and she would be fine to go without it. I hoped. Any longer and she might dislocate my shoulder from the sheer force of her momentum. 

As we turned the corner, the sounds of chopping became louder and I was greeted by the sight of a tall man perched atop a stepladder, armed with a hatchet and making fast work on the limbs of a tall aspen. 

A tall aspen on _my_ side of the property line. I gasped in surprise.

“Hey!” I cried, jogging up towards the man. He continued chopping hard, like his life depended on it, and completely oblivious with his back to me. 

“Hey!” I called again, angrier this time. 

What on earth was he doing? That was my tree, on my property! There was no clear fence line or divide between the driveways, but it was still clearly closer to my driveway than his. Any idiot could see that.

As the limb fell to the ground, he finally turned, only then noticing my presence. He pulled a white earbud from his ear, the cord snaked down into the pocket of his vest likely leading to an iPod tucked safely somewhere inside. He was tall, really tall, well over six feet by my guess and dressed as stereotypically as a woodcutter could be – plaid flannel shirt, puffer vest, jeans, and work boots teamed with a beanie and a short, yet grizzled, ash blond beard.

“Oh, hey there,” he said, stepping down off the ladder. He had a slight yet distinct accent and his cool blue eyes appraised me, neither friendly nor unfriendly. Although handsome, he looked worse for wear, pale skin with dark smudges under his eyes.

“ _'Hey there?’_ ” I sputtered. “What do you mean ‘hey there’? What on earth are you doing? You’re on my property - chopping down my tree.” I gestured incredulously to the pile of limbs littered around the base of the aspen. Bonnie came to my side, the leash finally slack in my hand.

His eyes slowly followed the path of my pointed arm towards the limbs. The tree was nearly half gone. 

“I don’t see any fence here and the tree was scraping along the roof of my car.” He shrugged. “I was planning on removing all of the chopped branches.”

“And you’re well within your rights to remove any tree limbs that are on _your_ side of the boundary - hell, the law even says you can throw the offending limbs back onto my side, but you can’t just chop my tree down. You’re trespassing!”

His eyes narrowed and he made a show of sighing loudly and dropping the hatchet down beside the stepladder. “And you would be…?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“Susannah,” I replied, mimicking his stance and dour expression.

“Well then, Susannah,” he said, placing hard emphasis my name. “I take it you’re the new neighbor. So forgive me for not being well versed in the local laws - I’m not a local.” It was probably the most unapologetic apology I’d ever heard. “Although, while we’re speaking of laws, I think it’s worth mentioning I never phoned in a noise complaint the entire time your crew of bang-happy construction workers kept me up all hours of the day and night working on your place. They prevented me from working and sleeping properly for weeks on end.” 

“Well, that was your prerogative. I was out of state and unable to oversee the work. And so is this,” I said, motioning to the tree, “your version of tit for tat? Because if you failed to let the local authorities, or even the foreman, know that they weren’t complying with the noise ordinances set by the county, then that’s your problem, not mine.” 

He let off a harsh laugh, “What are you, a lawyer?”

“Why yes, I am actually,” I gritted out. I opted to leave out the part about how I worked in estates and probates administration in a completely different state. 

“Ah. Now it all makes sense,” he said, his eyes rolling upwards. He left out an exasperated puff.

“Excuse me? There’s no need to be an asshole.”

“And there’s no need to be a bitch,” he countered, his gaze snapping back to mine. “Especially as I’m really doing you a favor. All the trees along this driveway are overgrown and need trimming back. They will be a hazard when the ice arrives. I wasn’t planning on chopping the whole thing down.” His gaze returned to the disarray of fresh cut tree limbs around us. “Although, I admit I may have been a little overzealous.” 

“That’s rich. You’ve lopped off just about half the tree. You know, my great-granddaddy planted these trees over sixty years ago. If you had a problem with them then you should have let me know.” 

He had no answer to that, so I tugged on Bonnie’s lead pulling her away. “I’ll see to the trees, seeing how they’re such an issue for you,” I said. “You just make sure you get rid of those branches and then get the hell off my property. Come on, Bonnie.” I began stomping back down my driveway. 

“Nice meeting you!”

Sarcastic asshole. 

“Hardly,” I yelled back. 

When I got back inside I grabbed a beer from the fridge and flopped down onto the couch. I lived on my own now. The ‘no booze before midday’ rule didn’t have to apply anymore. I popped open the Tupperware container and helped myself to two snickerdoodles. Arrogant asshole neighbor didn’t deserve them. Bonnie looked at me woefully.

“Sorry Bon, no cookies for you but I’ll take you for a proper walk in a minute.” She settled by the fire, her tail thumping intermittently against the round jute rug. 

I chased the second cookie with a swig of beer. The flavors mixed nicely somehow. I sighed. Maybe I shouldn’t have immediately gone on the offensive with Mr. Tall & Asshole. Not exactly my finest hour nor my best work at endearing myself to the neighbors. Gran would have been ashamed. Still. He was clearly in the wrong. He could have talked to me first and he didn’t need to be so darn rude about it.

After lunch and a long walk with Bonnie down to the lake and back, I hopped in the truck to head into Douglas. As I pulled up the driveway, I slowed down past the offending tree and saw the pile of lopped branches stacked neatly – on my side of the driveway. Asshole! I growled to myself and threw the truck into reverse and went straight back to the cabin. 

Ten minutes later at home I’d finished with my laptop and printer. I drove back up the driveway armed with a sealed envelope. I parked by the woodpile and threw each branch one by one haphazardly back onto his side of the driveway. I could hardly believe his nerve. I stalked up to his letterbox and jammed the envelope in.

Inside the envelope was three sheets of neatly folded paper, a printed breakdown of local boundary fence and easement laws I'd found online, with an added section at the end detailing tree damage laws. I highlighted in pink the section on monetary compensation… Replacing fully grown trees was crazy expensive.

Was I being petty? Hell yeah, but only as petty as he’d been.

* * *

I leaned against the door frame of Tara's office and waited until she looked up from her paperwork.

“Got some time to go over some evidence with me?” I asked, holding up a small paper bag in one hand and the cardboard tray carrying our coffees in the other. 

Her face broke into a wide grin. “Sookie Stackhouse, surely they taught you in law school that bribing public officials is highly illegal. And a sheriff, no less!” 

I laughed and placed the goodies on her desk as she walked around to embrace me. It was a strange thrill hearing my maiden name spoken out loud again.

So good to see you, V-BFF,” I said, squeezing my childhood vacation best friend – hence the title – in a tight hug.

“Right back at ya, girl. I've been wondering when you were planning on gracing my doorstep.”

We sat down and I ripped open the paper bag, now turned translucent by the greasy pastry inside. We each grabbed an oliebollen and bit in. Almost on cue, we both let out a moan of pleasure. 

“My God, I have no idea how I've survived so long without these in my life everyday.” 

The doughnuts were a local favorite from the popular Dutch bakery situated on Main Street. Only sold during the colder months, the bakery would set up a small cart right out on the street especially to make and sell them. Round doughnut balls, with raisins mixed into the batter that were then deep fried and coated in powdered sugar. 

“Wait until winter ends and your ass is as wide as you are tall,” Tara laughed. “I avoid that bakery this time of year for good reason.”

“So how are you doing, anyway?” I put the doughnut down, wiping my fingers on a napkin before reaching for my coffee cup. 

“Shouldn't I be asking you that?” she said, licking the powdered sugar from her bottom lip. 

“Maybe, but I asked first.”

She chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Well, I'm good. This place is keeping me busy and J.B.’s back working another season up at the resort.” 

“And I bet all the college bunnies are lining up to book their Christmas vacation at the resort to see him.” 

With his all-American good looks and muscular physique, J.B. could have landed a starring role in Magic Mike if he wanted, but for as long as I'd known him he'd instead chosen the life of a ski instructor. In fact, the first time I met him was out on the slopes of Mt. Voss and we'd even dated a little the following summer back when I was fifteen. After a few dates, it turned out that it was Tara he was really sweet on and they'd become high school sweethearts, tying the knot in their early twenties. 

“Probably,” she snorted. “But don't tell him that. He doesn't need the ego boost. ”

“So just busy, huh?” I took a sip of my black coffee, it was close to scalding but enjoyably bitter. Tara's eyes darkened at my probing and her shoulder drooped a little. 

“It's been a tough few months. Money has been tight. Really tight. J.B. and I don't exactly see eye to eye on how to handle our finances.”

“Really? I would never have guessed.” They were that one couple that always seemed to have it together.

“Well, the pay is good here, but it's not great…” She sighed and stared down at the paperwork. “I wish we could just split our finances, it would make things so much easier, for me at least. I saw his recent credit card bill - good God, does that man have a snowboard addiction - but we have to survive only on my income for half the year when he’s not working. It's just not feasible.” She shrugged finally, leaning back in her chair. 

“I'm so sorry to hear, Tara.” I reached over and squeezed her hand. “Maybe you should just split finances temporarily, after one summer I bet he'll reign his spending in.” 

“Maybe,” she said, a rueful smile gracing her lips, “but I'm not a cruel woman. Work here has been busy and stressful, I can't bear to be a bitch at home too.”

“Busy and stressful? What, not enough jail cells to house all the teens egging and TP-ing the neighborhood last Halloween?” 

“If only!” She fiddled with the lid of her coffee cup before looking back to me. “You know I was only elected last year. And it was off the back of my promise to look into the cases of those missing girls from the 90s.” 

“I remember,” I said, raising a brow. “But I figured that meant you'd try and pressure the feds to have a look into it.” 

“That was the idea, but it was a gamble at best and sadly for me, they weren't interested. Four teens, missing over the space of a decade is not enough of a connection for the feds to be interested. Unbelievable. And Bud really hammed those investigations back in the day. So I've had to start from scratch. We've been out interviewing family members, re-examining what little evidence we have, pulling apart timelines.”

“Have you discovered anything?” I picked my oliebollen back up and popped the rest of into my mouth. 

“If you count the ravages of time on a person's memory and the reopening of old wounds for those family members as a discovery - then yes. I’m not stupid, Sook. I’m female, black, and the youngest sheriff ever elected in this county. I only hold this position because I promised answers. The expectations are enormous. Like, skyscraper enormous. I'm fucking terrified that I can't deliver.” 

“Don’t give me that crap, Tara. You're tenacious, almost to a fault. If there's anything that can be found I know you and your deputies will find it. Folks here know that. That’s why they elected you.”

“Maybe,” she said staring down at her coffee cup. “I do know I’m going to work my ass off finding out what I can. Okay… now it's your turn to spill.” She pointed her cardboard coffee cup in my direction. “Attorney Susannah Herveaux, are you finally going to tell me what happened at work that forced you to go on an unpaid leave of absence?” 

I groaned and sank back into my seat. “It was forced alright. Please don’t make me tell you… Hang on, how did you know it was forced?”

She smirked in a knowing way. 

“Jason,” I concluded with a snarl. Tara laughed. That good for nothin' brother of mine, ratting me out. 

“He called with the big brother routine after you left Shreveport. Wanted me to keep an eye on you while you were here. Now c’mon, bitch. I need answers.”

“Well, 'leave of absence' is the nice PR way of putting it. Desmond, my boss, actually staged an intervention with my therapist. I have to take a break from work or find myself without a job. So humiliating.” 

“That barely counts as an answer,” she groused, leaning forward across the table. “Now. Dish.” 

“Remind me to never become a suspect to any crime in this county.” I threw my balled up napkin at her very unamused face. She caught it without flinching. It was a little scary.

“Okay - fine, fine. Just stop looking at me like that.” I drew a deep breath. “Let's just say after… after Alcide’s death, I basically worked myself into the ground. The paralegals were even getting pissy, I was staying late every night and when I ran out of my own work I was doing theirs. Filing motions, writing their reports, doing their research. I just couldn't bear to go home. Then, a few months later I kinda lost it half way through a deposition.” I flushed in embarrassment at the memory. “I mean really lost it. Throwing stationary and yelling like a loon. I might have even kicked over my chair as I stormed out. Someone had to restrain me to stop me from throwing it. Not that the opposing counsel didn't deserve it, she was a slimy bitch! No decency to her profession at all! But sadly not the greatest move for my reputation or the firm's.” 

Tara's pursed her lips tightly before she let out a loud peal of laughter. I scowled at her for a second before finally joining in. It was pretty funny … now there was thousands of miles worth of distance between me and the incident.

“The great Sookie Stackhouse finally lost her shit! Please, please tell me you have a copy the transcript.” She gasped between her giggles, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. “Oh my God, what I would give to have been a fly on that wall.” 

“There is not a chance in hell that you are ever going to see that transcript.” I poked my tongue out at her. “Plus… It was a hard time for me. The worst, maybe. I'm not particularly proud of how I was behaving then.” 

Her face softened and her laughter died down. “Well, you're here now. You made it through. Time for a change of pace now. You deserve a bit of peace and there's hardly enough going on up here to spark that hot head of yours.” 

“I'm not so sure about that…” I let out a huff. “How much do you know about the neighbor to the north of me?” 

“Eric? Tall, blonde, Swedish, and hunky?” 

“Well, if you add arrogant asshole to that description then I’m pretty sure we’re talking about the same guy.” I went on and explained the incident with my tree from earlier in the morning. 

“Oh, Sook.” She tsked. “That wasn’t exactly the best way to welcome yourself to the neighborhood.” 

“I know.” I grumbled, pushing stray wisps of hair away from my forehead. “My head’s still not on right, I guess. It wasn’t unprovoked though, he _was_ an asshole.” 

“Well, I thought he was nice enough. A few months back, I heard on the grapevine that a long-term renter had moved into the new vacation place next to yours until the summer, so I drove over and introduced myself. He’s been here give or take three months now, keeps to himself from what I can tell. I’ve seen him at Robbie’s bar having a beer a handful of times. He seems friendly and respectful. ”

“Yeah, but you’re the sheriff!” 

“True. Do you need me to go and talk to him?” Need to? No. Want to? More than a little. I chuckled internally at the thought of Tara showing up and giving him a verbal shakedown. 

“No, it’s okay. It’ll sort itself out.” We both fell quiet and the whir and hum of the old station’s ducted heating became the soundtrack to our thoughts. “Do you think I should apologize?”

“I probably would just for the sake of keeping the peace,” Tara said after a long moment. “It’s up to you though, but keep in mind he’s going to be there for a lot of the time you’re planning on living here.” 

It was something to chew on. Speaking of...

"Wanna split the last oliebollen?"

* * *

Clouds were rolling in and the temperature had begun to quickly drop by the time I arrived back home. Home. I liked the sound of that. The feeling of arriving back was even better. It felt like warmth and comfort, without any of the painful memories that haunted the house back in Shreveport. Bonnie was whining at the kitchen entrance as I let myself in through the garage and she practically jumped into my arms. 

“Whoa, Bon Bon. Go easy.” I crouched down and gave her head a good stroke, letting her wiry fur tangle through my fingers. She nuzzled down into my shoulder, her hind legs trembling. Poor girl was spooked. I mentally chastised myself for leaving her home alone only a few days after our arrival. She was behaving oddly. And I’d only been gone two, maybe two-and-a-half hours at most, hardly long enough to garner this kind of response. She was normally pretty accepting of new environments once she’d had the chance to give the place a good sniff. This was weird for her. 

I didn’t bother to take off my jacket, instead, I pulled her lead off the coat hook at the front door and bundled myself up in my scarf, beanie, and gloves. We walked out to the front of the property and she relieved herself out against the treeline before quickly pulling me back towards the front entrance, her tail pulled tight against her hindquarters. 

I let her lead me quickly along, the uncomfortable and prickly feeling of being watched rolling over me again.


	3. Rinse, Repeat

The next week moved quickly as I settled into a rhythm. Bonnie and I familiarized ourselves with the woods surrounding the cabin and I had even spent one brilliantly sunny day hiking around the lake alone. My quads hadn’t quite forgiven me for that venture. With Bonnie, I managed lots of smaller walks across my property and through extensive woodlands that bordered the national park over the road from me, and I’d also gone over to introduce myself to the neighbors to my right, an elderly couple. At least that introduction was altercation free. Thank God.

Bonnie took to our new lifestyle with gusto. She was born and bred for cooler climates. It was in her DNA as surely as her love for anything involving bacon. I was this close to letting her off the lead for our daily walks. I didn’t think I’d ever seen her so content. I guess having me around full time was a big change to the days she spent alone at the house in Shreveport and the hurried walks I’d give her at night after work. When I was at my worst, I'd even sent her to live with Jason for a few weeks. Now we were each other’s constant companions.

Tara and I had met for lunch twice already, I’d spent a morning at the farmer’s market over in Chester and I’d enjoyed a family dinner with Terry, Arlene and the kids. It had actually been a really fun evening. It reminded me a little of having dinner at Jason and Crystal’s place with the kids running around. The noise and chaos, the mess and happiness that seemed the norm for family life. 

Gran and even Grandpa had always had a soft spot for Terry, especially given our families went way back. In fact, I was pretty sure the whole town had a soft spot for Terry. He was a veteran, a town hero of sorts, he’d come back from the Gulf war in the early 90s with gray hairs creeping at his temples and a severe case of PTSD. He’d never been quite the same, apparently. Sweet as pie, an amazing father, but sometimes you’d catch a vacant look in his eyes, hinting at some awful. Some sort of unknown horror that touched him in a deep place which he could never shake. Still, he got on with life. Took over the family store and he loved Arlene and his family fiercely. He never had an unkind thing to say about anyone. It was easy to get caught up in the warmth of his character. 

Aside from my social outings, Netflix and I had also become very well acquainted. My Kindle and I had closely bonded too. Years of TV binging I’d missed out on was quickly made up for. Books I’d longed for years to begin were begun.

It was a weird, yet surprisingly easy, adjustment to a life of no work. I still found myself occasionally wandering from room to room in the cabin, feeling like I had something important to do. It was hard to turn my brain off after living for so long hard-wired on career mode. I succumbed to more than a few crying spells. I was alone without any distractions for the first time since Alcide’s death... It was due. I felt a little like clearing out the cobwebs with a flood. I was ashamed of how long I’d put off dealing with my grief in its entirety. I had moved on in so many ways, but in other ways, more deep-seated ways, the pain still needed to be addressed. 

Feeling comfortable in my own company was a huge start for me. 

A few days earlier, I'd pushed the low-set timber coffee table right up against the living room windows, the sunniest location on the lower floor. This particular coffee table was the official Stackhouse jigsaw puzzle table, salvaged from the basement. Growing up, the whole family had wasted many hours here working on giant jigsaws. I wondered what happened to all the puzzles... All long gone by now, no doubt. There’d been an impressive collection. Mountain-scapes, a peacock in full bloom, a dolphin, a few magic eye puzzles, and many more I’d long since forgotten. 

The jigsaw I was currently struggling through was a doozy. A gag gift from Jason, he’d given it to me when I last saw him a few weeks back at the annual Thanksgiving dinner Crystal put on. Gag gifts had been his longstanding brotherly tradition for him. He’d been so damn pleased with himself too when he was handing me the gift, the rotten bastard. The Impossible Puzzle had no straight edges and extra pieces that didn’t even fit. And, as I quickly discovered, not being able to discern what section of the puzzle you were working on at any given time was making it live up to its name. 

I’d been sitting in the afternoon sun for almost half an hour, nursing my coffee cup and trying to find the right piece to match the section of the aquarium scene I was building before I completely gave up. In the space of three days I’d only managed to complete a section the size of the teacup saucer and I was on the cusp of bursting a blood vessel. At least it was scratching the itch that not being at work had seemed to create. 

I stretched my aching legs as I stood and turned to face the huge windows. I stared down across the woods to the direction of the rental next door. A column of white smoke was slowly climbing upwards from a chimney obscured by evergreens. I chewed my lip and considered Tara’s words from last week. I hadn’t seen or heard from my neighbor since our run in, but now that I was more settled in I was feeling more than a little shameful about how quick I was to jump down his throat the morning I met him. I walked to the kitchen and set my coffee mug down on the counter.

“Bonnie, walk time!” 

* * *

I nervously brushed my hair over my shoulders and adjusted my teal beanie with one hand as I waited for someone to answer the door. I heard muffled movement from the other side indicating his approach and I held up the container of raspberry muffins in front of me, fixing what I hoped would be a polite and contrite smile on my face. I’d actually baked the muffins for myself that morning and in all honesty, they were nothing on my snickerdoodles, but they’d do in a pinch. I didn’t want to waste daylight baking another batch of cookies. 

The door swung open and I was suddenly face-to-face with Mr. Arrogance himself. I smiled brightly at him and when it was apparent he wasn’t going to greet me, my smile stretched a little too wide. He raised his brow at me expectantly leaned against the edge of the door. Damn, Tara was right. He was hunky. But he looked a mess too. His beard had grown out even more, mussed blond hair almost as wild as Bonnie’s mane when she walked straight into the wind. He was in sweats that bore the history of old washed out stains and a white t-shirt that had also seen better days, the neck stretched and rippled.

His eyes dropped to my Tupperware container and rose slowly back up to meet my gaze. 

“Are you here to serve me?” he asked, the corner of his lip twitching.

“What? No.” My forehead wrinkled in confusion. “I wouldn’t even know your name for the summons. Plus, the petitioner can’t be the one to do the servi- Oh!” His words clicked and I let out a nervous giggle. “Oh, right. Bad legal joke. No, I’m not here to serve you, I’m just dropping these off.” I handed the container over which he accepted, his expression not really belying anything. 

“Conciliatory muffins,” I explained. “And I’m sure you’ll be more than capable of serving yourself.” 

“What if I told you I was gluten intolerant?” 

“Then I’d have to tell you to lay off the beer and frozen pizza.” I pointed behind him to the messy kitchen counter not far inside the door. 

His eyes crinkled with amusement and he let out a low chuckle. He took a step back opening the door wider. “Would you like to come in?” 

I hesitated, unsure what to do. I shot a quick glance back to Bonnie, who I’d tied to the fencing on his front patio. She was laying down and chewing her stick in earnest, completely absorbed in the task.

“Sure. I can come in for a minute.” My manners won out over my discomfort. “That would be nice.” I unlaced my boots on his front mat and shucked them off beside a cast iron boot scraper shaped like a stag. 

My eyes widened at the surrounds as I followed him inside. If my cabin was the chalk then his was most definitely the cheese. It was bright and modern, open plan and almost entirely windows. Sparsely decorated and what furniture there was seemed very… Scandinavian. I liked it. Apart from all of the evidence of the messy bachelor living inside it. 

“Nice place,” I said, following him through the kitchen to the living area, doing my best to ignore all the clutter. My fingertips tingled at the thought of being left here for a day and scrubbing it from top to bottom. 

The living room boasted amazing views of the lake. It was sparkling cheerfully thanks to the sunshine and soft breeze, the snowy mountain peaks rising proudly behind it. The house was spacious and shoe box shaped, with the front windows were the modern bi-fold variety that could be opened like a concertina all the way around during summer. I pictured the seamless access it would give the living space out onto expansive front deck when pulled wide open. A killer place for summer cookouts. I paused at the windows taking in the view. It was interesting to see the vista of the lake from a slightly different position. I could appreciate the beauty of it afresh. I was surprisingly sensitized to my particular outlook at home in my cabin. It was easy to forget just how gorgeous it was here when you got used to seeing it in variations of the same way day after day.

My host moved past me, and collected a great armful of papers from where they were scattered along the seats of a long leather sectional. He dumped them to the coffee table next to an open laptop. He bounced down onto the reclining section, one leg casually up, his head supported by the cushions and immediately helped himself to a muffin, resting the container on his stomach. I moved to perch awkwardly across from him on the opposite end of the couch, watching as he demolished the baked good in a series of large bites. 

“This is good,” he said, his words muffled by the food. 

“Thanks.” I unzipped my parka and folded it beside me, resting my scarf, gloves and beanie neatly on top. Silence continued again, and I ran my fingers through the back of my hair, flattening any strands that were mussed by my beanie. “So, have you-“

“Did you sort out the trees?” he asked. I bristled at being interrupted, a pet peeve, but schooled my features into what Jessica, one of the paralegals at work, called my courtroom game face. Determined, free of emotion. 

“I’ve arranged for someone to come by on Friday to prune them back. So that should solve that problem.” 

“Good. And thanks for the information you left for me in my letterbox. Most helpful.” There was that biting sarcasm again. He helped himself to another muffin. 

“Well, the first piece of legal advice is free, so don’t get used to it.” 

His face broke out into a sudden, wide grin. It changed his features completely, like switching on the bathroom light in the middle of the night. A dark and very arrogant night. I found myself smiling back at him.

“Listen,” I said, “I just… I just wanted to apologize for my behavior the other day. I could’ve handled the situation better than I did. I let my temper get the best of me.” The pruned branches had thankfully disappeared the day after our altercation, never to be seen again. 

“It wasn’t really surprising,” he said a little too innocently, focusing on brushing crumbs from his chest onto the floor. 

“Excuse me?” I asked after a pause when it was clear he wasn’t going to explain. Be nice, Sookie, be nice, I silently chanted. 

“Hmm, well let’s see, you’re what – in your late twenties, early thirties? A lawyer from the city. Childfree. Presumably single, since you live alone. I’m sure you’re all about the control issues.” 

I clenched my jaw, suppressing the gasp of indignation that I wanted to suck in. His tone was light and joking, but at that moment I really couldn’t give a flying fig. I stood to my feet and began getting dressed to go back outside. 

“You know what? I didn’t come here to be insulted. This was a terrible idea.” I zipped up my coat noisily, before pointing an accusing finger at him. “Generally, when there is a misunderstanding between two people it’s common courtesy to apologize to each other.” 

“You want me to apologize?” he chuckled, resting an arm behind his head, his bicep curling attractively. “I’m not sure I have anything to apologize for.” 

“Are you kidding me?! You completely mauled one of my trees. Then proceeded to act like a complete ass about it.” I grabbed my container off his chest and dumped the contents onto his chest, the remaining muffins tumbling around him. “I’ll be taking this. Lord knows I don’t need another reason to see you again.” 

He met me by the front door as I was roughly pulling on my boots. I focused on my task, not caring to meet his eye. 

“Wait,” he said, “I’m sorry. And you’re right. I do owe you an apology. I’ve been rude and not at all neighborly… But you’re very easy to rile up.” 

“I’m glad I can be such an amusement for you.” I loaded my voice with as much venom as I could. “I have no idea what the hell you’ve got going on here,” I straightened up and gestured to his house and the mess within. “But screw you. Where do you get off on judging me? You know nothing about me.” 

“You’re right, you’re right.” He raised his hands in supplication. I untied Bonnie and she eagerly loped to him, awaiting pats. Fluffy traitor. He rewarded her with a scratch behind her ears. “And thanks for the muffins.” 

I didn’t bother answering and stepped off his porch, gently leading Bonnie away from him. I cut across his driveway and straight into the thick woods between our cabins. 

“My name’s Eric, by the way!” 

“Good for you!” I called back, not at all willing to let him have the last word. The snow was coarse and granular, crunching noisily underfoot. I kicked a small branch out of the way. What a disaster that was… I stared ruefully at the container in my hand as I hiked back. I mean, it wasn’t a chair kicking, stationary throwing level of disaster, but I seemed incapable of controlling my temper around that man. I sighed. And just when I thought I had gained some ground emotionally in the last week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter will be uploaded in the next 48 hours.


	4. Things That Go Bump In The Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inspiration for this story comes from a true account I read on a forum many years ago about someone's experience staying alone in a cabin in the woods. 
> 
> It terrified the absolute crap out of me and totally enthralled me... I could never let it go. So I reworked it and built on it and it turned into this story. You see the beginnings of it in this chapter.

Like I had most nights since arriving, I found myself wide awake and staring at the wooden ceiling beams in the early hours before dawn. I managed to sleep soundly for the most of the night until I didn’t. At about four or five am every morning, I’d find myself unable to settle back to sleep until the sky began lightening again. I hadn’t had a problem with this in Shreveport, but I was working myself so hard that I practically collapsed into bed exhausted every night. 

Tonight I’d woken earlier than usual. My digital alarm clock read 2:37 am. Bonnie was softly snoring in her doggy bed across the room from me. On our first night here she had dragged the large round cushion she slept on from beside my bed and across the bedroom floor, finally positioning it next to the heating vent. I knew she would have preferred to sleep on my bed, but I couldn’t really deal with the dog hair. Plus, she was freaking huge. I doubt she’d leave me enough room. 

It was deathly quiet outside, the stillness only punctuated by the occasional owl hoot and rustle of leaves whispering in the wind. I hated this time of night. I was never fearful living in Shreveport, not scared of being alone, not scared of the dark. But living in isolation in this cabin in the woods… It played havoc with my imagination. Shadows would loom menacingly from the corners of the room and every strange noise seemed to confirm something lurking of a sinister origin. I refused to sleep with the light on, though. I drew the line there. Doing that was conceding defeat. 

I focused on my breathing, counting out slow measured breaths and utilizing the mindfulness skills my therapist insisted I practice. It did help a bit. I let the anxious feeling pass over me, trying to remain aware yet unattached to the emotions and concentrated on the physical sensations I was experiencing. The warmth and heaviness of the duck down quilt I slept under. The comfortable tightness of the elastic around the waist of my thermal pajamas. The smoothness of the cotton sheets under my fingers. 

A loud snapping sound jolted me from my meditation. It was the sound of a large branch snapping in half, somewhere out in the clearing in front of the house. My fingers squeezed the sheets and I held my breath. An animal, I reasoned. A perfectly normal sound to hear in the woods at night. 

Or, a darker voice in my mind whispered, it could be someone standing out there. Watching the cabin. 

My mind raced over the multiple instances over the last week and a half since arriving, the unpleasant sensation of being watched, the goose bumps that would rise along my arms and the back of my neck. Looking out into the forest at night through the wide windows in the living area, the sensation of something looking back. I forced my hands to loosen their grip. I was being ridiculous.

I gasped as a heavy thump resounded followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps in the snow. The freezing temperatures overnight left the snow hard and icy, so it was impossible to miss the crunch and grind of someone or something walking over it. I couldn’t tell if it was human, but whatever it was had a strange gait. It was limping or dragging itself. Fear rippled through me like a large stone thrown into a still pond. My fingers tingled and burned. My breathing came to a halt as whatever it was began pulling itself up the steps leading up to the front deck on the bottom floor. 

_Thump, drag… Thump, drag… Thump, drag…_

It definitely didn’t sound human. Too heavy and too hulking. I couldn’t even begin to think what kind of animal it was. My mind began conjuring strange dark beasts and shadow creatures. The kind that haunts your dreams on your worst nights. I sat up and pulled the covers around me.

“Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap,” I whispered. My heart raced, I was simultaneously hot and cold all over. 

Bonnie remained clueless and fast asleep. I made a point the lock the house up tight every night, so there was no chance it was getting in. I quietly pulled the covers back and crept quickly down the staircase, avoiding the creaky step third from the bottom. I grabbed my Benelli from the coat closet and the box of slugs that sat on the top shelf. No sane person lived alone in the woods and didn’t own a firearm. I ran back up the steps, two at a time like my life depended on it and jumped back onto my bed, switching on my reading lamp as I went. 

With trembling fingers, I pointed the gun away from me, checking the safety was still on and that the gun was still unloaded. I pulled the bolt back, loaded a shell and closed the bolt. It let off a satisfying clunk. I loaded two more rounds into the magazine underneath. Jason had given the shotgun a proper clean for me before I left for Lake Douglas, but it had been years since I had loaded the weapon. Funny how muscle-memory worked. 

All had gone quiet since I’d made my mad dash downstairs, but a few nervous minutes later the noises resumed, this time sounding like it was pacing back in the snowy yard again. I kneeled on the bed, clutching the barrel tightly in hand as it rested across my lap. There was zero chance I’d be sleeping anymore tonight. My heart was hammering so hard in my chest I was sure if I pulled my pajamas back I’d see it beating through my chest. 

I drew a shaky breath and closed my eyes. The metal of the gun was cold and I focused on the feeling of it in my hand. It was a reminder that I still had control in this situation. I was safe inside and armed. Whatever it was out there was just that – out there. I wondered what Dr. Ludwig would think of my mindfulness techniques now. Pretty sure they never included a loaded weapon. 

I awoke some hours later to Bonnie licking my face. Daylight was casting a thin shaft of light through the crack between the curtains and I was laying slumped to my side on top of the bed, the gun beside me. I shooed Bonnie off the bed and rubbed my eyes tiredly. I didn’t know when I finally fell asleep. Sometime closer to dawn. Whatever it was stayed outside for nearly an hour before moving on, I guess sleep had claimed me a couple of hours after that. 

I stood up, grabbing the gun and parted the curtains, looking out cautiously. It was gray and dreary, with more snow on the way judging by the color of the clouds. I couldn’t see anything suspicious lingering in the yard. 

I dressed quickly for outside, long underwear, jeans, and a warm maroon-colored cashmere sweater with a chunky cowl neck. In the bathroom, I ran a brush through my hair, cleaned my teeth and washed my face. My eyes were red ringed and held a wild look I couldn’t ever remember seeing before. After rugging up in my boots, coat, and extras, I brought Bonnie and my Benelli outside with me. Soft flakes of snow were beginning to fall already and Bonnie raced off toward the tree line excitedly running back and forth between me and all the favorite locations she’d marked her territory on. As I walked around to the back yard, I realized I hadn’t brought her leash with me. Oh well, she seemed to be managing well enough. 

The set of tracks left by last night’s animal were immediately apparent. They weren’t mine, they weren’t Bonnie’s. A fine layer of powder had softened their appearance. I crouched by the ones closest to me, tracing the contours of the print with my fingertip. It was deep, heavy, big, and whatever it was had dragged itself up the three steps that lead onto the area of decking that looked out onto the lake. I shivered. There was nothing there now, just the deep gouges of its path in the snow. I followed it along before it petered out near the kitchen window. Into nothing. It was like it completely disappeared. 

Bonnie came up behind me and nuzzled her wet nose into the crook of my elbow. I crouched down and gave her bony frame a hug, willing my thudding heart to slow. My eyes scanned the tree line, looking for anything that might give me a clue about my night time visitor. Maybe it was that fox I’d heard that first night? Maybe it was injured and looking for shelter. Although, that didn’t explain the distinctly bipedal sounding footsteps I’d heard. 

I pushed down the sob that was threatening to rise from my chest. I was exhausted, mentally from the huge adrenaline dump I experienced the night before and physically from lack of sleep. The pines surrounding the house seemed to loom towards me. I was completely alone and utterly vulnerable for the first time in my life.

Maybe I was just losing it? Living alone in the woods and dealing with some heavy emotional baggage, my brain was coming unraveled. I stared at the misshapen footprints until their odd shape burned its way into my memory. Was I just imagining this? How could that be possible? 

I made my way quickly across the clearing, stepping carefully over the prints. Bonnie trailed closely behind, probably sensing my distress. I snorted quietly, she’d managed to sleep through most of the drama last night, so who was I kidding? She was just excited to go for a walk. The hard snow made my fast pace easier work than usual and I was practically jogging by the time I reached Eric’s. There was no sign of waking life or smoke coming from the chimney. I knocked for nearly a full minute before the door was yanked open by Eric, sleepy and pissed off. 

“Do you realize how early it is? I’ve only been asleep for-” His words faltered as he took in my appearance and he drew back a step. “Whoa… What are you doing with that gun?” 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” I gasped, quickly placing the gun against the wall and lifting up my hands. I could only imagine how I must have looked to him. “I, uh, I had a weird night last night.” My voice cracked and I hurried to clear my throat. 

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” His brow furrowed in concern and I finally took notice of his appearance. Plaid pajama pants. He was only wearing plaid pajama pants. His upper half looked amazing, all hard ridges and defined muscles, a trail blond hair making its way down his abdomen and further south. He clearly worked out. He’d shaved his face since I’d seen him yesterday too. “Susannah…?” he prompted. I blinked at his use of my formal name. 

I cleared my throat again and hugged my arms around me. I wasn’t even sure what I was going to say. _‘Oh hi, as you can see by me knocking on your door at 7 am brandishing a weapon, I’ve clearly lost my marbles. Some weird ass creature stalked me last night and I need you to come and look and make sure I’m actually seeing what is really there and not just hallucinating the footprints of some beast from hell.’_ Instead, I took the tried and true Sookie Stackhouse approach and jumped right on the offensive. 

“Did you come poking around my yard in the middle of the night last night? Because that is an asshole move if you did. Just because we don’t get along doesn’t mean you have to harrass-”

“What are you talking about?” he interrupted, his concern morphing into exasperation. I wanted to be mad, I really did. But somehow I knew it wasn’t him. To be honest, the thought that it might be him hadn’t even occurred to me until I’d started speaking. My eyes filled with tears. 

“I was kept up half the night last night by someone or something pacing and thumping around my yard and front deck.” I brushed the back of my hand against the corner of my eyes, quickly swiping away the tear that was threatening to fall. I leaned into Bonnie’s comforting weight, as she settled herself against my legs. 

“Really? What was it? An animal?” 

I shook my head in response. “I don’t think many animals get around solely on two legs.” His eyes widened at that.

“Give me a minute,” he said. 

He left me standing at the doorway as he disappeared up the set of stairs adjacent to the kitchen. The kitchen was in much tidier shape than the day before. He returned a few minutes later looking more awake and dressed in hiking pants, boots and a forest green woolen sweater. He shrugged on an expensive looking black and terracotta orange waterproof jacket that was hanging behind the front door and then pulled a beanie down over his hair. 

“Let’s go take a look, then.” He grabbed his keys from where they sat on a minimalist-style entry table and pulled the door shut behind him. I slung the shotgun back over my shoulder and fell into step beside him. Free of the confines of the leash, Bonnie galloped ahead in big bounding leaps. 

“Thank you,” I said quietly. “I shouldn’t have accused you. I didn’t really think it was you.” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you did think it was me. I wasn’t very nice to you yesterday.” 

I shrugged. I didn’t really care anymore. After spending one night practically peeing myself in fright, it put our silly squabbles into perspective. He was helping me now.

“Did you get a look at what or who it was?” he asked. Bonnie came running back towards us with a stick and Eric wrestled it from her jaws before throwing it for her.

“No. I was too terrified to look out the window. I have a partially obscured view of my yard from my bedroom due to the upstairs balcony, anyway.” 

“What time was it?”

“About 2:30 am, but it didn’t leave until nearly an hour later.”

“You should have called the police.” 

“Maybe.” I chewed on my bottom lip. “I was worried that maybe I was just overreacting. It’s a long way for a deputy or the sheriff to come in the middle of the night.” My pride also didn’t want Tara thinking I was going batshit insane up here on my own. “At least if you take a look you can tell me if I’m really going crazy or not.” 

“And does that happen often?” he asked, shooting me a sideways glance. Snowflakes had settled along his brows and eyelashes like little white, crystalline crowns. 

“Does what happen often?”

“You going crazy.” 

“Ha-ha. No, it doesn’t. At least not this level of crazy. Not unless I’m engaged in a conversation with you.” 

We shared a short but awkward laugh. It served to break a little of the tension. The anxiety which had been resting like a shroud on my shoulders slowly started lifting. Being around human company added a sense of realism to my situation. The last few hours felt dreamlike. Well, more like nightmare-ish. 

Eric spent nearly ten minutes slowly walking around my yard, following the tracks and examining them closely. His tall form looked unnatural hunched down over the snow, like Gulliver observing the people of Lilliput. He took a few photos on his cell phone before coming back to me. 

“They’re almost like hoof prints, but not. I have no explanation for why they completely stop and disappear on the deck, but maybe whatever it was jumped over the railing.” 

I nodded mutely, cupping my hands over my mouth, hoping to warm up my frozen nose with my breath. 

“I’m friendly with the ranger at the park. If you like I can send the pics to him and see what he thinks?” Eric's hands were jutted back in the pockets of his pants, his expression thoughtful.

“Sure. Who knows, maybe it’s that elusive wolverine my Grandpa swore up and down he saw hunting once.” The idea that some bipedal creature or even just a person was responsible for my night time visit seemed ridiculous now that I’d talked it out with Eric in the bright light of daytime. 

We stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure how to proceed. Bonnie barked and drew our attention to the living room windows, she was locked inside and licking the window, her collar tag clicking against the glass. 

“Would you like to come in for some breakfast?” I asked. “Seeing how I woke you and all.” 

“As long as you promise to put that thing away,” he pointed to the Benelli on my shoulder, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. I rolled my eyes at him and we walked around to the main entrance. 

Eric watched on curiously as I sat at the dining table and unloaded the shotgun, placing the shells back into their box. After I returned from storing the gun and slugs upstairs in my wardrobe, I made myself busy fixing a fresh pot of coffee for us and pulling out everything I’d need to make eggs and bacon. 

“My name is Sookie, by the way,” I said when I handed him his mug of coffee. He was standing at the mantle examining an oil landscape of the Rockies during fall. It was a beautiful piece, the oil paint thick and textured. Gran once told me Grandpa won the painting during a poker game after the cabin was first built. I was never really sure if that was true or not. 

“Sookie?” Eric repeated it like he was giving the name a test drive with his mouth. “Not Susannah?” 

“Well, my birth certificate says Susannah and that’s the name I go by when I’m at work, but to everyone else it’s Sookie.” 

“Unusual name, don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.”

“I’m from the south, it’s an uncommon but traditional nickname for Susannah there.” 

He followed me into the kitchen and sat on the bar stool across from where I was working at the island bench. I passed him a knife and chopping board instructing him to slice the mushrooms while I began halving the tomatoes ready for the broiler.

“So what brings you to Lake Douglas?” I asked, sneaking a glance at him through my eyelashes. He was focused on his task, his lips thinned in concentration. He looked good without a beard, the definition of his jaw more apparent. It set off the strong line of his nose in an attractive way. I cracked some salt and pepper over the tomatoes and placed the tray under the broiler.

“I’m an author,” he said passing the board of chopped mushrooms over to my outstretched hand. “My agent rented the house to make sure I had no distractions finishing the current manuscript I’m working on. The publishing company I’m contracted to were breathing down her neck. She told me, and I quote, ‘Get your shit together Eric, if you even consider missing your deadline I’ll drive all the way to the middle of bumfuck nowhere and pull your head out of your ass myself.’” 

“She really said that?” I choked on my mouthful of coffee at the words and the British falsetto he affected. He smirked, leaning back in his seat. 

“Yes, she really said that. If you met her you’d realize it’s not that unusual for her.” 

“So what kind of stuff do you write?” I began frying breakfast and arranging our plates and cutlery. 

“Fiction. You might know of some of my work. I’ve hit the best seller list a bunch of times and one book was number one for a few months about ten years back. It was really big that year. The Peace Receiver. Eric Northman is my full name.” 

“The only thing I was reading ten years ago was case law and legal textbooks,” I said smiling over my shoulder to him. “I barely had a spare minute to even consider anything as wild as reading for pleasure.” I turned back to the stove, flipping the bacon. “I’ll have to look it up. Free time’s all I got these days. So what about your newer stuff? Have you written much since?” 

“Yeah, all moderately successful. After The Peace Receiver, I picked up a five book contract with one of the big publishers and moved to the US. It was the biggest market for my first novel. But I haven’t been the most… dedicated writers.” He shrugged and popped a slice of mushroom that had fallen off the board into his mouth. “I started feeling like a book mill, pumping them out on demand. My last novel was the least successful and I missed my deadline by a wide margin. The reviews were fairly positive, average at best really, but the money lost due to missing the deadline and holding up production and marketing meant it was a failure from the publisher’s perspective. They only really care about the bottom dollar.”

Eric got the fire going while I finished up cooking and we sat on opposite ends of my couch digging into our meals, letting the flames warm us up as we ate.

“So, what’s your deal?” he asked, between mouthfuls of food. 

“My deal? I’m not really sure I have a ‘deal’”. I forked a slice of sautéed mushroom into my mouth. It was buttery and delicious. 

“Sure you do,” he said, gesturing to the room in a small circular motion with his fork. “High powered lawyer giving up the city life for one of solitude.” 

“I’m an associate working in estates and probate administration in a small city in Louisiana. I’d hardly call that high powered.” I placed my fork down on the plate I was balancing on my lap. Bonnie was staring at me from beside the fire with the most woeful of expressions so I tore off a tiny corner of bacon and tossed it to her. She nipped it out of the air. “It’s a long story. Long and messy.” 

“Long and messy? You’re talking to the right person.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, a distinct leer in his eyes and I felt the beginnings of a blush prickle my cheeks. “Let me hear it,” he pressed. 

“Well… Okay. I’ll warn you, it’s grim. My husband died about 18 months ago. I threw myself into my work and basically lost myself. I had a breakdown of sorts at work, that was about six months ago. My boss, who is a family friend and I guess you could also call him my mentor, basically told me unless I take some significant time off he would fire me.” 

“I’m sorry about your husband. How did that happen?” he was leaning back against the corner of the couch, one elbow propped on the back of it, his food forgotten. 

An unbidden smile crept across my lips. He had such a pragmatic and straight-forward manner. I liked it. I couldn’t think of a single person who came right out and asked me how Alcide died if it was brought up in casual conversation. They always danced around the topic politely, pissing me the hell off in the process, with that look of un-ventured burning curiosity in their eyes. 

“He owned a construction company with his younger brother. There was an accident on one of the sites. A wall collapsed on him, fracturing his skull. Doctors placed him in a coma for a few days while they waited for the swelling on his brain to subside, but it was already too late. There was too much swelling. He slipped away not long after that.” I said slipped away… but his actual death came down to my decision to take him off life support. I picked up the glass of water I’d placed by my feet and took a sip. “I’d signed him up to a pretty comprehensive life insurance policy when we first married in case he was ever too injured to work, so between that and the payout from the construction insurance, I was able to buy back this cabin and renovate it. 

“Gran sold the cabin after my granddaddy passed on when I was 18. It went to an older couple wanting to live out their retirement here. The cabin had actually been sitting back on the market for a while before I was in a position to buy it, but luckily it never sold. I think mostly because the asking price was too high for the state it was in. You should’ve seen how it used to look - it still had the original wiring! Money wasn’t an issue though, I just wanted it back in the family. So I finished up as many of the open cases I could at work while I waited for the house to be renovated and readied for winter. Now here I am.” 

“The place looks great.” 

“All the noise violations during the renovations were worth it, then?” I shot back and he chuckled. 

“Most definitely. Even just for the history of this place alone. That you can return to somewhere meaningful after dealing with so much is special.” Bonnie had been slowly creeping closer to Eric during my entire monologue and was now resting her snout along his feet, giving him her best starving puppy impersonation. He leaned forward to give her a flank a good scratch. “And this one has the puppy dog eyes down pat.”

“Don’t mind her. She has a bowl of kibble at the back door. She’s just hoping for something a bit better.” 

Our conversation wandered on to lighter topics: his impressions of living in America for nearly a decade, his experiences of his family cabin in Sweden compared to here and I recounted a few funny anecdotes of vacations spent at Lake Douglas. Turned out Eric was easy company... When he wasn't being an ass.

He made me save his number in my cell in case I had a return of my nighttime visitor. He promptly followed that remark up with an off-color joke about me giving him my number so he could phone me to come over for a nighttime visit too. I simply rolled my eyes and told him where to stick it. 

We said our goodbyes but he paused at my front door, not opening it, his hand resting on the handle. A few seconds passed like he was thinking something over before he turned on his heel to face me. 

“I have a bit of a confession to make,” he said. His blue eyes were unreadable. 

“Oh?”

“When you caught me hacking at your tree, I was actually taking out my frustration, rather than pruning it back for the greater good.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking abashed. “It had left a scratch on the roof of my car, and I only meant to take that one branch, but I really let that poor tree have it once I got going. 

“Writing this book has been slow going, I’ll be lucky to meet the deadline, if at all, and if I’m late then I’ve effectively burned all my bridges with my publisher. I’d been staring at a mostly blank word document for days on end. Then you arrive, stalking up your driveway, full of fire and ire - it was the probably the most exciting and infuriating conversation I’ve had since arriving. I went home that afternoon and banged out three new chapters. The most I’ve done in one go since living here. Then reading your little mailbox drop and seeing all those branches you kicked over to my driveway, the words kept flowing. So when I saw you yesterday…” he trailed off sheepishly. 

“Oh my God. You were purposefully trying to piss me off yesterday!” I gasped. “There I was trying to clean the slate and you were, urgh, you were using me, making me angry just to … just to get your writing mojo rocks off!”

“Hey - writer’s block is no joke. It’s the equivalent of cancer to an author’s career. It can kill it, but if you’re lucky it goes into remission. And I’ve completed five chapters since meeting you.” 

“You really are an asshole.” 

“Don’t think that’s ever been in dispute. And I don’t think you really mind either.” He raised a brow at me and I scoffed. 

“Did I mention arrogant?” I crossed my arms over my chest and leveled a scathing look at him, trying my hardest to keep the smile I was hiding from twisting my lips upwards. I was thankful for his help that morning, so his little confession, while surprising, didn’t really bother me. It made his behavior from yesterday make sense.

“Oh please, keep going,” he groaned. “At this rate, I’ll be finished with this book by New Year’s.” 

“Good grief - you really need to leave.” I opened the door for him and grabbed his arms to physically shuffle him outside onto the front stoop. He shot a wink at me and set off towards the woods with a casual wave. I rolled my eyes back at him in response before shutting the front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finishing up my final assessments for this semester, I don't think I'll be able to post a new chapter until about this time next week. Sorry!


	5. Studies on Hysteria

I kept myself busy over the next two days splitting logs in the woodshed, shoveling snow, taking walks with Bonnie, and reading Eric’s novel which I’d downloaded onto my Kindle. On Saturday, I had plans for Tara and J.B. to come over for dinner. I’d been up to oversee the arborists on the day before as they pruned back the large aspens that ran down my driveway. They were there most of the morning and did a fine job, managing to prune them back without demolishing them too much. Eric wandered up to say hello but excused himself after a minute to go back to writing. I took that to mean the writer’s block was kept at bay for the time being. 

I’d managed to put that crazy night behind me and was even sleeping a bit better. I’d taken to going to bed earlier than usual each night so that my pre-dawn insomnia wouldn’t affect me too much. I still got the odd prickly feeling but chalked it up to nighttime jitters that simply came from living here alone. In truth, it was easier to pretend nothing was going on rather than trying to work out exactly what had happened that night. I'd turned it over every which way in my head and still couldn't come up with a plausible theory that made complete sense.

Saturday morning I’d been into town and back, picked up two bottles of red and the last bits and pieces I needed for the roast meal I was cooking that night. The skies decided it was time to bring out the sunshine, the first stint I’d seen for a few days, and it gave me a needed boost to my spirits. I finally got around to hooking up Daddy’s record player and put on one of his favorites, an old Willie Nelson record from the 70s. I fell into a happy rhythm moving room to room through the cabin, cleaning and dusting. 

I’d hardly found myself thinking of Alcide, a realization that came with a large dollop of guilt. I owed his momma a call too, I’d promised to keep in touch while I was at Lake Douglas, but our conversations were always stilted and hard work. The only thing we really had in common these days was her dead son. I decided I’d call her next week and maybe in the meantime print some photos to put up on the living room mantel. Maybe a small framed wedding photo of Alcide and me, a few of the scanned photos of my childhood at the cabin with Mom and Dad, a family portrait of Jason, Crystal and the kids, and Gran and Grandpa’s wedding portrait. It felt like a way I could still acknowledge and respect my past with Alcide without having to feel guilty about him not dominating my thoughts. 

I seasoned the shoulder of pork and put it in the oven three hours before Tara and J.B. were due. I was wiping down the benchtop when the front door swung open with a bang. It made me jump and I hurried over to shut it up quickly, trying to prevent any more heat from escaping. I gripped the edge of the door and looked around the front stoop. There was no one there that I could see and not a lick of wind that could have forced it open. Odd. The door seemed to latch shut properly when I closed it but I gave it a good tug to make sure it was clicked in right. It was a heavy door, solid oak and thick. 

I turned on my heel and took a step back towards the kitchen. My breath caught in my throat and I froze mid-step, listening to the sound of the latch slowly turning in its bracket and the accompanying squeak as the door opened all the way again, this time slowly. Fear ran through me like an icy bolt of lightning. 

Bonnie, from her spot by the fire, began whining. I forced myself to turn back around. I reached out and slammed the door shut, grabbing the keys from where they hung on wooden coat pegs by the door and using it to set the deadbolt. My fingers shook as I hung the keys back up, my thoughts racing and barely comprehensible over the roar of blood pumping in my ears. 

_What the hell._

I was running upstairs, the thudding of my feet on the floorboards echoing through the house. I locked myself inside my en suite and sunk down to the floor against the door. I hugged my knees to my chest, burying my face against them. My brain was surely playing tricks on me. These types of things didn’t happen in real life. Doors don’t just unlatch themselves and slowly open on purpose. My breaths came hard and fast.

Had I done this to myself? Worked myself to the bone for so long, delaying any normal progression of grief, all the while slowly damaging my psyche and sanity? I took a few minutes to collect myself, to slow my breathing and wait for the hot and cold prickles of panic to subside. 

Once I felt ready, I checked the front door was still shut – it was – and then showered, turning my attention to getting ready for the guests coming that night. I still had things to do before J.B and Tara arrived and it wasn’t in my nature to just collapse in a heap and simply stop. So much so it was probably a fault of mine, but I was a Stackhouse and so I picked myself up and kept going. 

I dressed in a plum colored sweater dress with black leggings and blow dried my hair straight. I returned downstairs, summoning all my inner fortitude and sternly telling myself I had nothing to worry about. Whether the door swung open by unnatural forces or by a sudden burst of wind, or even only in my own imagination, I’d be damned if I’d ever be scared to move about my own home. 

I put on a different record, The Siegel-Schwall Band, and set about setting the table and turning the vegetables that were roasting in the oven and putting on some greens to steam. The pork still needed a little longer but smelled divine. 

I opened a bottle of Pinot so it could have a chance to air and left it on the dining table along with three crystal glasses. I didn’t know if aerating red wine really made a difference, but Desmond always made a point to air wines when hosting dinner parties at his home. Who knew, I probably hadn’t even opened it early enough. I paused at the dining room window to look out at the lake. The sun was setting and turning its glassy surface to a burnt orange ombre. I smiled, taking it in and feeling thankful that even after all the loss I’d experienced in my life, I could still appreciate all the good left to see in the world. 

I refilled Bonnie’s bowl with kibble and she trotted over from her spot by the fire to eat. I patted her head twice, before slipping on my sheepskin boots and the ratty overcoat I kept by the side kitchen door for my trips to collect wood. I had a wheelbarrow set beside the garage and walked it over to the woodshed, loading it up with enough wood to last me until morning. Enormous gray clouds were moving in from the north, not surprising since I’d heard in town a snowstorm would be hitting sometime later tonight. 

I steered the barrow back towards the house, guiding the wheel into the narrow rut worn into the snow and dirt from previous trips. Cold fingers, like icy roots, wrapped themselves around my ankle, under the fur of my boots and lining of my leggings. A startled cry escaped from my lips. The fingers squeezed tight like a vice and yanked. 

My feet slid from under me, my face slamming down onto the logs in the wheelbarrow. I landed heavily onto the ground, logs tumbling around me and the air in my lungs escaping me with a grunt. I climbed to my hands and knees, pain radiating from my stomach and face. I tried desperately to catch my breath, my vocal cords emitting strangled keen with every inhale and exhale. I was winded. I scrabbled my way back towards the garage on all fours, the pain in my diaphragm subsiding. Blood was dribbling rapidly from my nose, polka dots forming on the snow. 

My strange rasping morphed into a sob. I was too scared to look back to see what had grabbed me. I struggled to my feet and sprinted as best I could, clutching my stomach in a hunched position. I made it the final paces into the garage and through the door into the kitchen, slamming it shut. I turned the lock and fumbled uselessly with the garage door remote sitting on the bench beside the door. It clattered to the floor and I fell to my knees, crying in earnest, but still managing to press the switch to close the garage up. 

I raced up the stairs, propelling myself up by grabbing the banister with every step and retrieved the Benelli. I loaded three shells and ran back down, heading straight to the kitchen. I slowed my approach and raised the gun, pointing the barrel directly at the door. I flicked the safety but left my finger off the trigger. I would shoot if I had to, but only if I had to. I whispered a silent prayer that nothing had made its way into the garage in the brief window of time between me getting into the kitchen and closing the garage. 

I unlocked the door and pulled it slightly open. I kicked it the rest of the way open with my toe and resumed my aim of the shotgun. I struggled to calm my breathing as much as I could. Heaving breaths would play havoc with my aim. The garage was dark and windowless, the fresh smell of paint and recent construction not having faded yet. I flicked the light on and the bright fluorescent flickered to life. I first squatted checking under the truck and then walked a circle around it. There was nothing there. 

I locked the door again, depositing the gun on the kitchen counter, the safety now back on. I grabbed a tea towel and pressed it to my nose. The bleeding had slowed, but my chin was coated with blood, my mouth tangy with the stuff. I turned off the oven and managed to get its contents out and cooling on the stove. I turned the steaming vegetables on low. Couldn’t let a good dinner burn.

Tara and J.B. arrived ten minutes later, their expression stunned when I opened the door for them. 

“Jesus, Sookie. What happened to your face?” 

I smiled tightly at them. 

“I slipped and fell over outside getting some wood.” 

I had tended to my face in the downstairs bathroom before their arrival and Tara ushered me back in to inspect the damage under the bright heat lamps while J.B. collected the abandoned wood from outside. I had managed to get changed and put the gun away before their knock at the door.

“You sure did a number on yourself.” She dabbed at my split lip with a damp washcloth. I’d split it with my teeth when I fell. Luckily, no real damage and my teeth were intact. 

“Tell me about it.” I tested my nose gingerly with my fingers. “I hope I haven’t broken it.” 

“You’d know if you have. Even if there’s a little fracture there, nothing can be done but leaving it to heal. Oh shit, your chin is covered in splinters, girl.” 

I laid out on the couch, my head in Tara’s lap while she conducted surgery on my chin using the tweezers. J.B. stood by, dutifully pointing the flash of his cell phone at my chin. He caught my eye and grinned. 

“Getting klutzy in your old age, Bookie. Never would have picked it.” 

I rolled my eyes at him good-naturedly, unable to respond with Tara tightly gripping my chin, pulling out the splinters one at a time. Bookie was his old nickname for me since I always studied my butt off whenever I'd to visit Lake Douglas over the Christmas break.

Dinner was still a success. Halfway through my second wine, I began to loosen up. I was determined to not let whatever happened affect me. The food was delicious, the apple sauce a family recipe passed down to me by Gran, and the three of us chatted, reliving our glory days – summers swimming at the lake, camping in the woods, that time J.B. snuck booze for us from his mom’s liquor cabinet only to discover it was a non-alcoholic daiquiri mix.

Tara talked a little of the missing cases she was working on. Her fingers pulling on the edges of her cloth napkin as she expressed her frustration. She invited me to ride along for one of the interviews she was conducting the coming Wednesday over in Chester, the next town over. We’d originally planned to meet for lunch in Douglas, but she promised me there was an amazing barbecue place we had to try out near the Chester mall.

J.B. got into a good-natured argument with Tara over his latest purchase, a $2000 snowboard, which J.B. promised he could claim on tax, while Tara grumbled and threw peas across the table into his face. I loved seeing them like that, their affection was evident. They loved each other fiercely. 

“Girl, I don’t like worrying about you all up here on your own.” She held her goodbye hug a second longer before releasing me. 

“I’m not on my own. I’ve got Eric just next door.” 

“Oh, you’ve got him, have you?” The grin on her face just about split it in half.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not like that.” I said, rolling my eyes. “We’re on good terms now. I took your advice and went and apologized to him. He gave me his number in case I ever needed him for anything.” 

“Mmhmm. I can only guess the ways in which he was picturing you 'needing' him.” 

“Give it a rest, Tara,” I said with a laugh. “And even if he was, well, then it sucks to be him. I came here to get my head screwed on straight, not to start anything with anyone.” 

“Getting your head screwed on straight and getting screwed aren’t mutually exclusive. He’s hot, Sook. I’d be all over that if I could.” 

“Tara!” I cried. 

I turned to J.B., who was leaning against the coat closet door, swing the car keys in his hand, chuckling along with his wife. “Can you control your wife, please? She’s clearly inebriated.” 

“She’s the Sheriff, you really think she lets me control anything in this marriage?” 

We said our goodnights and I sent them home with leftovers and a peck to each of their cheeks. 

After tidying up and letting Bon out for a quick minute on her lead to do her business, I curled up in bed. It was past midnight and the snow was falling thick and steadily, the wind whistling and moaning through the trees. It was a comforting sound. Nights like this reminded me of the excitement I felt going to sleep as a kid during snowstorms, knowing when we’d wake up in the morning we’d be completely cocooned in the white stuff. Those Christmases were always the best, especially when Mom and Dad were still alive. 

I set up my laptop on the bedside table and put on some history documentary on Netflix. I zoned out after a few minutes, my brain finally addressing what happened outside earlier in the evening. I’d shoved both incidents, the door and the fall, to the back of my mind all night and instead focused on being present for J.B. and Tara during dinner. I didn’t want to let on how shaken I was. Because I was shaken - and badly. I couldn’t bear to tell Tara what really happened, as well as the other incidents. They were unexplainable. Well, there was one plausible explanation... I was losing my mind. 

And I was beginning to think that might be true.


	6. Snow Day

As soon as I woke on Sunday I knew it would be a lazy day. The wine must've dulled the sensations of my injury from the night before because I found myself waking in the same position I fell asleep, stiff and groggy, my lip throbbing and my stomach dully aching. Slight blue bruising had appeared under the inner corner of my eyes, making me look more tired than I felt. At least I avoided pre-dawn insomnia for one night. 

After a light breakfast, I showered, dressed, braided my towel-dried hair in a long plait, and slipped straight back into my dressing gown. I set up camp on the couch with my coffee, Kindle, and the record player going. Bonnie settled on the couch beside me, resting her head against my curled legs. We’d gained four inches of snow overnight; the sky a passive shade of gull-wing gray. I got the fire roaring again using the reserve stack of firewood I kept in the garage. The wood was kept there for any days I was well and truly snowed in, but the thought of walking back to the woodshed left me feeling uneasy. 

Eric arrived some time later, knocking excitedly at the glass sliding doors off the living room which lead onto deck. His face was lit with excitement, skis in one hand, poles in the other. His cheeks and nose red and ruddy from the cold. 

“It snowed!” he cried when I slid open the door. 

“I know.” I laughed at his enthusiasm and stepped aside to let him in. 

“I’m going cross country skiing. I’ve packed lunch and supplies. You should join me. I brought a thermos, but I’m hoping you can fill it with coffee, yours is much better. Mine is like bitter muck.” He dropped his backpack to the floor and pulled off his boots, his movements loose and bouncy, like a puppy who was promised a walk. Bonnie caught on and bounded across to him demanding cuddles and attention. Eric complied, dropping down to wrestle around with her. 

“How old are you anyway?” I rolled my eyes, fishing the thermos that was sticking out from the side pocket of his pack.

“Thirty-four.” He shot a grin at me and I chuckled. 

“Mr. Author, that was rhetorical.” I filled two clean mugs with what was left in my coffee pot and made a new pot for the thermos. 

“What happened here?” he gestured to his lip, as he plonked himself onto the kitchen stool. “Run into trouble endearing yourself to some more neighbors?” 

“Very funny.” I slid his mug towards him. “I slipped over outside getting some wood. I lost, gravity won.” 

I moved to the fridge and stuck my head inside, pretending to rifle for the cream, not trusting myself to meet his gaze. He gave me an odd look when I placed the small carton of cream on the counter and I smiled brightly at him. 

“How goes the writing?” I asked. 

“Good. Great. Pam, my agent, is impressed. She called my latest chapter ‘inspired’. And getting a compliment from her is like drawing blood from stone. The fact she offered it freely is encouraging.” 

“Well, then I’m impressed too. I’m glad I could be of assistance to you. Just let me know if your inspiration starts waning and I’ll be most happy to grace you with another Sookie Stackhouse patented temper tantrum.” I pulled my face into a fake scowl.

“Don’t tempt me.” His gravelly tone sent a shiver through me and I felt a blush stain my cheeks. He held my gaze as he heaped a teaspoon of sugar into his coffee, stirring slowly. Good gracious, I needed to be careful around this man. 

After coffee, I dressed into some warm but light outdoor clothing and I found Eric crouched by the record player, rifling through the box of records. 

“You like blues?” he asked.

“Sure, but those are all my Daddy’s records. He was into blues, country, bluegrass… That kind of stuff. I’m enjoying listening to it all again.”

“I’m not so sure about this one, though.” He held up a Kenny Rogers record. 

“Don’t you dare diss Kenny. He’s practically an institution.” 

“I won’t speak,” he said lifting his hands in a mock plea, “but just know my opinion of you has been called into question.” He chuckled when I poked my tongue out at him. 

“You knew where my skis were?” I asked, sitting down on the couch to put on my socks and boots. Eric had retrieved my ski gear from the coat closet and neatly stacked my skis, poles and boots against the couch ready for me. 

“I may have poked around a little when you were cooking breakfast the other day,” he admitted with not a shred of shame.

“Snooping’s rude, you know.” I rolled my leggings up to put on my explorer socks. 

“Whoa - what’s that on your ankle?” He was kneeling before me before I could properly register his movement, his large hand gently lifting my foot from the floor. I knew what it would be before I even saw it. Frankly, I was surprised I hadn’t noticed it in the shower that morning, even dazed as I was. He traced the pad of his thumb across the purple finger-shaped bruises, eliciting a shiver along my leg. It was a perfect handprint grip of bruised flesh just above my ankle. Startling in its sharp edges and depth of color. 

“Tell me what happened yesterday.” The demand in his voice evaporating the casual brush-off comment forming on my lips. 

“I don’t know. I mean I do, but I don’t. Oh… I just- I just don’t know.” Tears sprung to my eyes and I dropped my head. 

“Sookie…” he said, lifting my chin gently between his thumb and forefinger. 

“I don’t know what happening to me,” I choked out. “I feel like I’m going completely crazy. One second I’m convinced I’m a mental case and the next I’m sure what I remember happening actually did. But it can't have. It's impossible.” 

He didn’t respond and gestured for me to continue. 

“Yesterday morning, I was in the kitchen when I heard the front door bang open. It was strange since it’s a heavy door, but I guess not entirely out of the realm of possibility. I walked over and secured it then as I was walking back I swear... I swear I heard the lock turning on its own in the latch. The door opened again, this time slowly. There was no one there. No breeze. And the feeling I had…” I trailed off, searching for the right words. “It was immobilizing. Fear doesn’t begin to describe it. It was like something was wrong or really off. Unnatural. Even Bonnie started whining.” 

“And your leg? I’m guessing it’s connected to what happened to your face?” 

I leaned back against the couch, sinking into the tan leather cushions. 

“I don’t think you’ll believe me if I told you.” I tipped my head back to stare at the ceiling. 

“Well, I want to know regardless.” He moved to sit and face me on the couch. I drew a deep breath knowing I couldn’t avoid his questioning. I had to talk to someone. Something was going on - whether in reality or only in my head, it wouldn’t do to keep it to myself. 

“I had company coming last night for dinner,” I said. “I went out to fill the barrow with wood for the fire. On my way back, I did slip and fall onto the logs. But it wasn’t because I was clumsy or tripped. It was because someone grabbed me by my ankle and pulled me down.” 

A cheerful honky-tonk blues song was spinning on the record player, full of upbeat harmonica arpeggios and percussion. My explanation sounded like a bad joke against a completely absurd soundtrack. 

“Did you see who it was?” 

“No, I was winded when I fell and in such a panic just trying to breathe and avoid getting attacked I hauled ass inside.” That and I was too chicken shit to look back. 

“Why weren’t you wearing your boots outside? Because unless you were barefoot, I can’t see how-” 

“I _was_ wearing boots. I was wearing those sheepskin ugg-style of boots. They come halfway up my calf. If you stick your head in the kitchen you’ll see them sitting by the side door.” 

“But…” He sounded uncertain.

I pressed the heel of my palms into my eyes, squashing the tears away. 

“I know. I know how that sounds. I had thick sock and leggings on too. I can’t explain it. But I felt it. I felt a cold hand wrap around my leg. The fingers against my skin.” 

“Holy shit.” 

“You can see how I’m questioning my sanity.” 

“Sane or not, something clearly grabbed you. You can’t deny those bruises.” 

“Maybe.” I sat forward and pulled on my thick navy socks, keeping my hands busy fussing with rolling down my leggings and getting my boots on. 

“And maybe it’s time to let the police know. What if some crazy fuck is out there harassing you? I met the Sheriff. I’m sure she-“

“No. That’s not happening.” I cut him off sharply, my head snapping his way to stare him down. “I know Tara. I know what she would think if I told her all this. She’s already worried about me.” I let out a humorless laugh. “It was actually her and her husband coming for dinner last night. She helped patch me up.”

I focused on smoothing the wrinkles from the softshell jacket I was wearing. I was uncomfortable with the way he was looking at me. Uncertain and worried, his ash blonde brows pinched together, a deep crease forming between them.

“Look, I know I can’t explain what happened yesterday. But I’m not going to sit and do nothing,” I told him. “My therapist referred me to a shrink in town. I have no idea if he’s any good, but at least I can get some professional advice.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy, Sookie,” he frowned. 

“So you really think the door unlatched itself and swung open of its own volition? Or what? A vengeful spirit grabbed me from under my clothes yesterday? All in between spending its free nights dragging its ass around my yard… Because that’s the theory we’re dancing around right now, isn’t it?" My voice steadily rose. "The thing neither of us are willing to say? It’s fucking insane!” I yanked my mittens onto my hands and stood up. Eric followed my movements from the couch with his eyes, keeping silent. 

“I believe in God,” I said. “And I admit I’m not the greatest Christian, hell, I can’t even remember the last time I set foot inside a church unless it was for a wedding or funeral. But I sure as shit don’t believe in anything else other than what we see and know in the here and now. I’ve experienced so much death in my life that if ghosts existed I should have a gaggle of them following behind me wherever I go. My job is basically in the death industry for cripes’ sake. I’m familiar with it. Intimately so. And it just… Just doesn’t feel like a ghost. Honestly? It feels like something more.” I stopped pacing and lifted my hands in defeat. 

How could I adequately explain the overwhelming weight that came with these incidents? The sense of being watched by something bigger and much badder than me. The sense that something was wrong at its essential core. Impending doom. That was it. I felt something akin to impending doom... I also knew that it was a classic anxiety symptom. I sighed, moving to the kitchen to fill up Eric’s thermos. 

“A psychological cause is the simplest explanation,” I continued. “Dealing with this is hard enough, I can’t entertain the notion of it being something otherworldly and beyond my control.”

“I get what you’re saying. I do. But unless you’ve been dragging yourself around through the snow at midnight, or performing gymnastics hard enough to cause bruises, I don’t think you should rule out that something is really happening.” 

“Is that what you think? That something is really happening?” The coffee I was pouring splashed over the rim, tiny drops hitting my skin with pinpricks of heat. I brushed the liquid off quickly, muttering a curse. 

“Yes. I’m not saying it's ghosts. Or anything supernatural. Just don’t be so quick to dismiss the reality of this. You’re not crazy, Sookie.” 

We shared a long look. He was trying to implore me with his eyes. Those damned gorgeous eyes. I screwed the lid on the thermos and handed it over to him. 

“Fine. But that’s enough gabbing. We have snow to ski and countryside to cross.” 

We skied down to the trail by the lake, making our away along the shore as far to the north as we could alongside it before branching off and up an incline towards a flatter part of the forest I remembered from childhood. The constant swish and rhythmic sounds our skis was calming, even when I got to the top of the incline panting heavily, my legs and arms on fire. Eric had to hold himself back a little, his legs had a good six inches on mine, so he paced himself where I worked a little harder than I would have normally. This meant he spoke more than I did, but I liked and needed the distraction. 

He told me a little of his childhood in Sweden, the summers and weekends spent at the family cottage on the Baltic coast. How he and his older brother never seemed to get along, but once they crossed the threshold of the family sommarstuga they would become inseparable for the entire vacation, causing mischief and battling in wars with the other children in the area. His brother was now a political adviser for the social democrats in Sweden, married with one child, a daughter. His parents remained in Stolkholm, his mother a retired literature professor, his father a mechanical engineer.

I liked watching him speak, he had such an easy manner but underneath I had the sense every sentence was carefully considered, every word held significance, even if it was a joke or casual comment. He didn’t say it unless he meant to say it and wanted me to hear it. I wondered if it was due to his profession. 

It reminded me a little of a philosophy lecturer from a class I took back in my undergrad days. We did a unit on the philosophy of language, the professor had spent a good part of the semester discussing how speaking without meaning was a waste of words. By diluting the meaning of conversation through irrelevant information, unnecessary words even ums and ahs, you were also diluting the meaningfulness in the way we understood the world and each other - and even our existence. 

I didn’t know if that was really true, I definitely didn’t prescribe to that method outside of the courtroom and office, I was a big time rambler, but after listening to Eric that morning I finally understood what that lecturer was banging on about those years ago. 

“Tell me about your husband.” 

I looked up from my sandwich in surprise, wiping a stray crumb from the corner of my lip. We’d stopped for lunch at the end of a large glade that turned into a steep rocky hill. It seemed like the natural halfway point of our journey before turning back. We were sitting cross-legged and facing one another atop a waterproof picnic rug Eric had packed with him. 

“What would you like to know?” 

“I’m not sure. The type of person he was. How you met. That sort of thing, or really whatever you’d like to share.” He leaned forward to slice himself some cheese from a simple platter he’d prepared. I finished the last few bites of my sandwich, looking back across the landscape from the direction we came. 

“We started dating the night I finished my bar exams. We’d known each other for years before that; he was a friend of Jason’s. So he was around a lot when I was living in Bon Temps, back before I left for law school in New Orleans. 

“I finished law school and came back, it was summer so I saw him a little. It was clear we had a thing for each other, but I was so busy studying for the bar exam, which in Louisiana is intense. Crazy intense. I basically avoided him the whole time. I couldn’t have any distractions. When it was time to sit the exam I went back to New Orleans for a week to take it. He was waiting at my hotel with a bunch of roses when I got out the final night of examinations. He’d driven all the way down from Shreveport to New Orleans just to ask me out. It was a little daggy, but sweet.” 

“You guys were happy together?” 

“Yeah, mostly. We were both workaholics.” I shrugged, popping a dried apricot into my mouth. “He took over his father’s construction company after his dad passed. I was working between 60 and 80 hours a week. We were ships passing in the night a lot of the time. Especially towards the end. We fought about it a lot. He wanted me to cut back my hours, he wanted to start a family… Things I wanted too, but later. I wanted to be made partner first. I worked so hard at my career, to make something of myself. For the first time in my life I had financial independence. I loved my work. I thought there’d be time for kids and settling later… It’s maybe the biggest regret of mine. The fact he never got to experience that joy in the time he was alive.” 

“You can’t blame yourself for that. I’m sure he would have regretted leaving you widowed with children.” 

“You’re right," I said with a sigh. "I know getting caught up in what-ifs is a useless endeavor. I can accept things for how they are. I miss him, but at the same time it feels like another lifetime ago. Especially now I’m living here…" I looked across to him and shrugged, smiling. "Okay, that’s enough morbid talk. I’m beginning to feel like a downer. Tell me a little about your life in the big apple.” 

“What’s to tell?” he leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows along the edge of the large tartan rug, his long legs stretching out. 

“I don’t know… What area do you live in? What do you do when you’re not writing?” 

“I bought a brownstone in Brooklyn with the proceeds of my first novel and the signing bonus from my contract. It’s a nice neighborhood, artsy and a good vibe. There’s a fun social scene in Brooklyn for people in the arts. Parties, niche events, openings. But I’ve grown tired of it. It’s charming at first, you avoid the glitz and glamor of the Manhattan arts scene, but after a while I realized it was the same type of people, doing the same type of things, more concerned with what others are doing, how people perceived them. And so much gossip.” His voice turned bitter.

“Sounds like you’ve been burned.” 

“Maybe,” he said with a wry smile. He didn’t offer more, I didn’t pry.

“So I’ve been reading your book.”

“The Peace Receiver?” 

“Uh-huh. I’m about three-quarters of the way through.”

“You like it?” 

“It’s interesting,” I said, topping up my mug of coffee. “The characters are very gritty and I’ve been at the edge of my seat pretty much the entire story.”

“It’s okay if you don’t like it,” he said with a laugh. “It’s very mainstream-y. I wrote it purposefully to appeal to the masses. It’s my only number one best seller for a reason.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it!” 

“No, but I get you, Lawyer-Lady. You deflected – you didn’t say you liked it either.” 

“Drat, he’s on to me.” I grinned, snapping my fingers. “But really, I do like it, it’s just a little fast paced and intense than my usual reads. I keep putting it down to stare out the window to take a mental break. ” 

“I get that a lot. I’m glad. It’s what I was aiming for at the time. A studio is in talks with my publisher to secure the rights for a movie.”

“Wow, that’s a big deal. Congratulations.”

“Nothing’s set in stone yet. But if it pans out and the movie goes ahead then there’s a good chance I could live off the royalties from it and the extra book sales it’ll generate, or least pay off the rest of my mortgage with what they pay me for the rights. Well, that’s the dream. The financial security would mean I could write as I please, at my own pace. No more multiple book contracts to pushy publishers who want a say in what I write.” 

“I can see it being made into a movie. I’d say good luck, but I don’t think you need it.” 

He opened his mouth as if he might say something, but instead smiled broadly, his eyes twinkling. It was almost indecent the way he looked at me at times. I averted my gaze. I wasn’t sure of his interest in me, but more so I wasn’t sure of my interest in him. I didn’t think I was yet at a place to consider anything more than friendship, regardless of how many times I managed to sneak a quick glance at his perfect ass while we were skiing, or stare at his muscled forearms when he pushed back his sleeves to help me tidy up the leftovers from our lunch. And did I mention his butt? 

Yikes, Stackhouse. You're roaming dangerously close to 'got it bad' territory.


	7. Life on Pause

I met Tara at the police station first thing Wednesday morning for our drive out to Chester. Thankfully, the few days previous had been incident free, although Eric began texting me to check in throughout the day. I appreciated his concern, not that it was overt - since all of his texts were shamelessly flirty. Naturally, I replied innocently and obviously clueless. 

E: Guess what I’m wearing… ;)  
S: Old sweats and a stained t-shirt?

E: Going to be cold tonight.  
S: It’s freezing already! Had to turn on the electric heating as well as fire.  
E: Skin-to-skin contact is the best way to avoid hypothermia on nights like this.  
S: UR right. I’ll get Bonnie to sleep next to me, thx for the advice :)

E: Hey sexy, what r u doing?  
S: New phone, who’s this?

E: If you were words on a page you’d be fine print.  
S: Hard to read and full of legal jargon?

It was hilarious shutting him down, a thrill would shoot through my stomach every time my phone chimed. I knew he was enjoying the back and forth too since his pick-up lines were getting more brazen and stupid. 

Tara and I made good time across county lines to Chester, the highway free and clear of traffic, and we spent the trip chatting aimlessly. Chester boasted a population of 5000, it was situated flat and sprawling against the base of Mt Rayner, a large and towering peak. Where the tourists came to Lake Douglas to enjoy their summers, they also came in droves to Chester to enjoy the skiing season. There was only one main resort on the mountain and another smaller boutique one, but there was a multitude of accommodations to choose from in the town. At the busiest time of year, the overflow of tourists would trickle into Douglas, fillings up the summer vacation rentals and small hotels. 

Tara parked the police SUV at Golden Oaks retirement home and as we walked across the mostly empty visitor’s lot, Tara explained we were interviewing with a mother of one of the missing teens. The mother had moved from Douglas into the retirement home some years earlier, unable to manage the progression of her MS while living alone. 

Glenda Knight was younger than I expected, perhaps only in her early 50s, the height of youth compared to the other residents relaxing in the dayroom of the group home. She nodded to us as she made her way over, wavy ash blonde hair brushing over her stooped shoulders, her hand tightly curled over the top of her walking stick. Her clothes were tasteful but practical for someone who struggled to dress themselves - a calf-length floral shift and a loosely knitted cardigan. Tara stood to greet her and helped her sink into the padded chair across from us. We had picked a table looking out over the gardens, which were green and without snow thanks to our lower altitude.

“Thanks again for meeting with me, Mrs. Knight. This is my friend and associate Susannah, she works in law. I was hoping she could sit in with our discussion today, see if she can pick up anything of interest we’ve neglected to take note.” 

I shot Tara a look. I hadn’t realized she wanted me here for anything other than moral support, but I could see from the rigid tension in her shoulders that she meant business. 

“Hello again, Tara, and it’s nice to meet you, Susannah.” Glenda smiled at me. It was thin and emotionless, although her gaze steadied me. It was one that betrayed how difficult our conversation would likely be for her.

Tara started slowly, working through the details from the beginning. Who did Jade know and hang around with in her spare time, what extracurricular activities she did after school, her temperament and relationship with Glenda (good) and her father (non-existent), what she was doing the days leading up to her disappearance and finally the circumstances surrounding her disappearance and the days immediately following. 

Glenda shakily dabbed at her eyes as she painted a picture of a sweet sixteen-year-old girl, well liked by her peers, an average but successful student, who worked part-time house cleaning for extra money. Glenda was raising her on her own and wasn’t in contact with any of her family, not even Jade’s father. She’d caught Jade sneaking out a few weeks before her disappearance, climbing out the front window of her bedroom. She had an older boyfriend in Chester, Glenda told us, one she didn’t approve of and they often fought over. Jade being the result of a teenage pregnancy meant Glenda didn’t want her daughter to repeat her mother’s mistakes. 

“She had potential, to go to college, get a good career and experience something more than small town life." She focused her gaze out of the window into the gardens as she spoke. "I knew I was pinning my missed hopes and dreams on her, but I couldn’t help it. I pushed her too hard. I should’ve just let her enjoy her life. Let her enjoy what little she had of it.” 

“Do you think she ran away?” I asked softly.

“Absolutely not," she said with a sharp look. "Chad was apparently meant to pick her up and take her to a house party. Her friends were expecting her. She might have hated how strict I was enough to run off, but she loved her friends too much to not go.” 

Tara had filled her notebook with what appeared to be mostly illegible scrawl, although I knew she was recording the entire interview on her smartphone. I kept silent, hands folded in my lap, holding the tears at bay. This poor woman, she’d had the entire meaning of her life stripped away with the disappearance of her daughter, never to quite recover and only to deteriorate physically.

Tara and I thanked her when the questioning finished. Tara did well, respectful and yet probing, guiding the answers out of Glenda without influencing her. 

“She’s been gone more than twenty years now,” Glenda said once she got to her feet, her hand trembled as it clasped the walking stick. “She’s not coming back. If you find the sicko who took her, then good, but either way it makes no difference to me now.” 

I stood by the window looking out over the gardens as Tara helped Glenda out of the dayroom and back to her bedroom. I had a few questions to ask Tara, but I was sure they were all avenues explored by her and even the old Sheriff, Bud Dearborn. 

“Suuuu-sie…” A voice rasped in sing-song from somewhere behind me. “Suuu-sie... Susannah-Still-Alive.” 

I turned sharply on my heel to see who was calling. Susie wasn’t a nickname of mine, but it seemed directed at me. There were a dozen or so residents in the room, most of whom were seated on couches and recliners around a large television on the opposite end of the room. A few residents were dotted about the room, talking quietly to one another or reading, but I spotted my caller. 

An old woman in the corner, seated at a small fold out card table. She was dressed in a white and red gingham button down that seemed to engulf her, her salt and pepper hair like a curly crown around her head. She lifted a small hand beckoning me with a finger, knuckles swollen and arthritic. 

“Hello,” I said when I approached. “Do I know you?” 

“We’ve never met, but I know someone that does know you.” 

Unlike Glenda, her smile was genuine... but she reminded me of those sideshow clowns at the fair, the kind you deposit a ping pong ball into their mouths to receive a prize, with their loony smiles and tapered eyes. 

“Oh really? Are you talking about Mrs. Knight? I was here with my friend chatting to her earlier.” She must've heard Tara introduce me as Susannah. 

“No, not her. It’s someone you’re quite familiar with. I’m playing Solitaire, be a doll and sit with me.” 

I looked at the door but Tara hadn’t appeared yet, so I obliged the old woman and sat at the metal chair opposite her. Her frail hands could barely thumb the cards onto the table and it was clear she wasn’t playing any kind of solitaire that I’d seen. She either had dementia or some screws loose. The cards, while neat, were in no particular order, flipped the wrong way and in the wrong places.

“I’m on a 12 game streak,” she declared, lifting her chin proudly. 

“That’s good. Congratulations... So, who is it that we both know?” I couldn’t help it. I was curious. She moistened her bottom lip with her tongue and let out a raspy giggle. 

“I’ve been waiting for my turn, but he’s keeping me holdin’ on. That’s fine, I can wait on a little while. I like solitaire.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Who?” 

“You’re close to him. You’ve followed him, trailing close behind your whole life. Look - an ace!” She placed the three of hearts triumphantly on top of the last pile. She clearly wasn’t lucid. I pushed my chair back with my feet, getting ready to stand up. 

“It’s death,” she rasped. I stilled, my stomach turning leaden. I followed her movements as she quickly gathered up the cards and began shuffling. 

“You know him, just as he knows you. You follow it, just as he follows you.” Her voice crackled with every syllable and she started dealing the cards into their respective piles. 

“I’m sorry, I have to go. My friend is waiting on me.” I stood woodenly, pushing my chair back in, like a wonky marionette doing a terrible job of mimicking human movements. 

“He wants you to know you’ve got a hanger on. Your enemy. Babael, the keeper and the prince. He’s latched to your spark and he watches you. Death are one, but not a singular. There are many, doll, and this death, this hanger on, wants to use you.” 

I felt glued to the spot, watching as the old woman became absorbed with her game, her eyes glazing, either unaware or ignoring my presence. I felt a warm hand on my shoulder and I jumped. 

“Hey, Sook. Everything alright?” Tara asked. 

I nodded, unable to tear my eyes away from the old woman. 

“Let’s get going. I’m wiped out and dying for some lunch.” 

“Sure,” I replied. I spared a second glance to the old woman as we walked away. She didn’t notice us depart. Out in the corridor, I managed to stop an aged-care worker walking down the hall with a pile of clean linen. 

“Excuse me, I was wondering if you could tell me who the lady is seated in the corner of the dayroom? She’s dressed in a red plaid shirt playing solitaire.” 

“Dot?" the woman asked knowingly. "Did she start a conversation with you? Pay no mind to her. She’s a character, sweet when she wants to be, but doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. She likes to chat when people visit, she doesn’t get a lot of visitors.” The woman nodded to us both and kept walking. 

Tara and I were both quiet through lunch. The barbecue joint had amazing food just as Tara had promised, even the venue was amazing, the décor hilariously and purposefully kitsch, but I found myself picking at my plate, appetite gone. 

“She sobbed in my arms,” Tara said, treating her food with the same consideration as I was. 

“Sorry?”

“Glenda. She burst into tears back in her room, clinging to me like she would collapse. Oh Sook, I have no idea how I’m going to find out what happened to those girls.” 

“Do you have any leads at all?” 

She shook her head. “How can I find something that’s just not fucking there? No leads, no witnesses, no evidence.” 

“What about the girl’s boyfriend? Chad?” 

“Chad from Chester?” She let off an unamused snort. “I spoke with him yesterday on the phone. He lives in Kansas City now, married with a bunch of kids. Currently working in real estate. He has an alibi for that night. He didn’t pick Jade up or even drive up into Douglas. He was getting busy with her best friend at the party. House full of people saw them making out on a couch all evening.” 

“Sounds like a stand-up guy.” 

“With a waterproof alibi. Best I can figure is that she got sick of waiting and walked straight through town to the highway. Got picked up by someone there… Have you ever heard of the Highway of Tears?”

“Yeah,” I said, spearing a wedge of tomato from our side salad. “I’ve heard of it. Series of unsolved murders where girls went missing or were murdered along a stretch of highway. Somewhere in Canada, I think.” 

Tara nodded. “There are likely multiple murderers responsible. One guy was convicted a few years back for one of them; he was a trucker, from out of area. Stands to reason that many of those murderers are truckers. That highway is a common trucking route.” 

I nodded slowly, picking up what she was putting down. 

“Just like the 402.” The highway we drove in on from Douglas into Chester. “But an out-of-towner trucker would be next to impossible to find.”

“Exactly. Needle meet haystack. The other three missing Douglas girls are a little harder to link to the highway, though. Plus, they all went missing during summertime. Lots of people coming in and out of town then.” She groaned in frustration and dropped her head into her hands. 

“Stop focusing on the bigger picture, T. Just focus on rediscovering all that you can. You’re the pair of fresh eyes Bud the Drunk wished he could have had back then. There will be a commonality somewhere between all the disappearances, you just haven’t seen it yet.” 

Tara let me do my grocery shopping at the big supermarket in Chester while she sat in her SUV transcribing the interview to her laptop. Terry’s store had a decent range, but there were a few specialty items I could only find in Chester. It was a silent drive back to the police station, the light-hearted mood from earlier in the morning long gone. By the time I got home and had hauled my bags of shopping from the truck into my kitchen, Bonnie was eagerly sniffing and getting under my legs. I crouched down to greet her, sighing into her neck. I was drained, I could've gone to bed even though it was only early afternoon. Instead, I took Bonnie for a short walk through the woods throwing the stick for her as we went. The wind was icy, blowing down off the mountain peaks and by the time I got home I roused enough energy to get stuck into cooking my meals for the following week. 

As I peeled, chopped, steamed, baked, and sautéed my way through three different recipes I chewed over the morning spent at Golden Oaks. Glenda and her empty smile, her life forever paused on that morning in ’94 when she opened her daughter’s bedroom door and discovered her gone. But it was Dot in the enormous gingham shirt that dominated my thoughts. 

My rational brain assured me her words were the ramblings of an old woman whose mind had become muddled with old age. But I couldn’t deny I was deeply affected by them, it hit some hidden and raw part within me. That part was the small girl who had lost her parents, the young woman who held her Gran’s cool hand as she slipped away for good one humid Bon Temps’ evening, it was the shadow of a woman slumped over Alcide’s form lying in his hospital bed, his body still going but his brain long dead. There were other deaths too, Grandpa Mitchell, Aunt Linda and Hadley. Maybe there was some truth to the old woman’s words. I had experienced a lot of death.

The doorbell rang and I brushed my hands off on a tea towel to open it. 

“You weren’t answering your phone or replying to my texts,” Eric explained gruffly. He brushed past me into the living room, pulling off his jacket as he went. 

“Please, Eric, won’t you come in?” I said sarcastically, swinging the door closed.

“Answer your damn phone!” he snapped. He sat on the arm of the couch tugging at the laces of his boots. 

I fished my cell phone from my handbag, there were three missed calls and three text messages. I’d turned my phone on silent when we met with Glenda and then forgotten all about it. 

“It’s been on silent all day. I went into Chester with Tara to help her with something.” I returned to the kitchen and got back to rolling out the chilled pastry dough.

“I was worried when you didn’t answer. I thought you’d been hurt.” 

“Well, I’m fine as you can clearly see. I don’t need a babysitter. I’m capable of looking after myself.” The day had been long and hard. I didn’t need someone hovering with kid gloves because I didn’t pick up the phone. I slammed the rolling pin down harder than I meant to.

“I’m not saying that," he huffed. "Just after everything that’s happened…I worry.” 

I slowed my aggressive pastry rolling tactics as I felt my annoyance fade. I offered him a tentative smile which he mirrored.

“It’s okay. Really. There’s no need to rush over to check on me.” 

“It makes me feeling better knowing you’re okay.” He sat himself down at the island bench and took in the disarray of the kitchen. “You planning on feeding a platoon tonight?” 

“No. I cook my meals in advance for the week.” I pointed to the neat stack of containers by the sink that were waiting to be filled with food.

“That’s…” he seemed at a loss.

“Depressing?” I laughed. “Yeah, a little. But cooking for one is annoying and ends up being more wasteful than doing a big batch in advance.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” he protested. “It’s not something I’d ever think to do. Your organizational skills impress me.”

“Sure.” I rolled my eyes and began placing cut triangles of pastry onto a lined baking tray. “Finish any more chapters?” 

“Yes, nearly done on the next one. Slowing a little, but then again I haven’t seen you for a couple of days.” He winked at me and it was all I could do to stave off the swarm of butterflies in my stomach. Dammit. I was getting predictable. 

“Hungry?” I asked, sidestepping his comment as I slid the tray into the hot oven.

“Always.” There was a grin and a leer. 

“Well, prepare your stomach, in about half an hour I’ll blow your mind with what’s simmering in that big pot on the stove.” I pulled out two beers from the fridge, uncapping them and handed one over to him. 

“You know me well,” he said, taking a long sip. 

“I’ve seen your house. I know the extent of your beer habit.” 

“Hey!” he pouted. “I’d cleaned up the second time you saw my place.” 

“The recycling bin never lies.” I clinked my beer against his and took a draw. He looked a little taken aback before chuckling. There was no recycling service this far out of town. 

I packaged up shrimp gumbo with garlic green beans, a quinoa and roast vegetable salad, and finally served us each a bowl of chicken pot pie soup with short-crust pastry crackers for dipping. I portioned up the remainders and moved everything to the fridge while Eric carried our meals and beers over to the dining table. 

“Oh my God,” he said after the second mouthful. 

“I know. It gets even better after a day or so.” 

“How much would it take to bribe you into making all my meals in advance?” 

“Too much,” I said with a laugh, “But if you’re good I might send you home with some more soup for tomorrow.” 

“So how have things been here the last day or two?” he said once he could draw himself away from the soup bowl.

“Normal, thankfully. Although I had a bit of a weird day today.” I recounted the details of my morning with Tara without going into too many details about Glenda. I gave him a little rundown on the cases of the missing girls since he’d never heard about them, and I told him of the weird encounter with the Dot - her calling me from across the room, her warning, the solitaire game, what the staff member had said. “I feel a bit silly for how much it freaked me out.” 

“Sookie, most normal people would shit bricks hearing that. After everything you’ve experienced here it would’ve been strange if you didn’t freak out.” 

I nibbled on my cracker, lost in thought. I supposed he had a point. He stood up and walked into the kitchen, returning with two more beers and the notepad and pen I kept on the counter beside the fruit bowl. 

“Tell me exactly what she said – word for word.” He flipped the notepad open to a blank page and looked at me expectantly. 

“Um… let me think.” I closed my eyes, picturing the woman’s face, the sure way in which her gnarled hands thumbed the playing cards. “’You know death, he knows you. You follow it, it follows you.’ Then she said ‘You have a hanger on and he’s watching you. Your enemy. Babel’, or maybe it was Bah-bale, ‘has latched onto your spark. There are many deaths but this one wants to use you.’ or something like that. I can’t remember very clearly. The whole thing was very surreal.” 

Eric let out a puff of air. “No wonder.” 

“Oh! She also said something about Babel being a keeper and a prince.”

“Okay.” He jotted that down too. 

“You really think this is worth writing down?” 

“I think all of it is worth writing down. Everything you’ve experienced. Or is this kind of freakiness just normal everyday stuff for you?” His eyebrow quirked upwards. 

“Of course not! But I highly doubt this morning is related to anything else that’s been happening to me.” 

He shrugged in a way that let me know he thought otherwise and began clearing our empty bowls from the table. We packed the dishwasher and tidied up the kitchen; Eric drying the pots as I washed them. I left him drying the last pot and walked out to the living room which had now darkened. I switched on the floor lamps on either side of the couch and moved to the fire. I’d neglected it for the last two hours and it was dying. I crouched beside it, stoking up the coals before throwing a few more logs on. 

“Do you want to stay for a movie?” I called over my shoulder. “There’s this dumb Adam Sandler one that keeps popping up on my Netflix recommends list. Might be funny.” 

I stood up and squealed when I turned and found Eric standing right behind me. 

“Geez Louise! You can’t sneak up on a girl like that!” I placed a hand against my chest to slow my racing heart.

He smiled down at me, his eyes painted a warm shade of orange from the reflection of the flames. He lifted his hands to my face, his forefingers silently tracing a path up along my cheekbones, before he tucked my loosely hanging hair behind my ears, blonde tendrils snaking around his fingers. 

“I like you, Sookie.” His voice was low, accent more pronounced. I suddenly found myself hyper-aware of everything, my body, the heat of the flames against the back of my calves, the way my chest rose and fell with each breath, Eric’s eyes as they flickered back and forth searching mine, the curve of his bottom lip, the pricks of stubble that graced his cheeks and strong jaw. 

“You like me?” I breathed. I knew this - I really did. But hearing him say it still surprised me. 

“Haven’t I made that obvious?” he said leaning down to breathe the words into my ear. The sound sent a careening jolt of sensation from deep within my chest to between my legs. I faltered, taking a step back and Eric steadied me with a firm grip of his hand around my upper arm. 

“Look Eric, I – I’m not sure I… I don’t think–“ I stumbled over my words, not sure exactly what I was trying to say or what I even wanted. I drew a ragged breath. I liked him and wanted him, but the difference between having crush on him to actually engaging in… something felt like an emotionally insurmountable leap. 

“It’s fine,” he said, his lips pursed in a tense smile. He stepped back releasing my arm. “It’s time for me to head home, anyway.” 

I watched silently as he carefully tore his notes from the notepad, folding the page neatly into a square and into the back pocket of his bootleg jeans. He pulled on his boots from where he’d kicked them off earlier by the couch and grabbed his jacket. I felt frozen in place, trapped by the world’s longest, most awkward moment. 

“Thanks for checking in on me,” I managed to say.

“And thanks for the meal. Keep your phone on you.” He walked through the front door, pulling it closed gently behind him. 

I sank down into the couch cushions, staring unfocused and unseeing at the fireplace. What had just happened? My heart tightened at the thought I may have killed whatever burgeoning friendship we’d created. How was he even interested in me? He was so hot, so sure of himself, funny as heck, and me? Well… I managed to keep myself afloat in the day-to-day, but I was no match for him. My life was a mess.

I slept with a shotgun within reach, I felt sure I was on the verge of a mental breakdown and I always seemed to be just a whisker away from a temper tantrum around him. Worse still, I felt too far gone, too jaded from losing almost everyone I loved in my life. Moving on romantically for the first time after Alcide wasn’t the issue, it was the reality that by opening my heart to someone new I was also exposing myself to the risk of losing another person. I knew I couldn’t cope with that again, I just couldn’t. 

Because I knew death and death knew me.


	8. Painted Blind

I took Bonnie down to the lake for a walk as soon as dawn arrived. I'd been awake for hours by that point and the churning of my thoughts was doing my head in. I tucked Bonnie's lead into my back pocket since this was the furthest I'd ventured without having her restrained but she was happy keeping pace with me from only twenty yards ahead.

We got down to the shore when Bonnie caught the scent of something interesting, her nose twitching and snuffling in excitement. She began weaving between the trees and I sat on a sunlit rock, brushing off the thin coating of frost and snow from its top. I technically shouldn't have been down this far with Bonnie, I was in national park territory, but the sunlit water was too attractive to ignore. I sighed deeply taking in the view.

Eric's expression was burned on the back of my retinas, that fleeting look of hurt that crossed his features when I rejected him last night. I fisted my gloved hands and pressed them hard against my eyes. Bah! Was I being a total moron? My libido was jack-rabbiting around and practically screaming yes, it had gone virtually ignored for nearly a year and a half, but my brain was urging me to pump the brakes and slow the hell down. I knew it was a reflex born from self-preservation, but it was hard to function or know how to proceed feeling so torn. I had no idea what to do.

I shifted uncomfortably, an odd feeling washing over me and I twisted in my position to see where Bonnie had disappeared to. A flash of orange caught my eye from within the tree line and I heard Bonnie's bark from somewhere over my shoulder.

A red fox darted out onto the trail and stopped in front of me. I wondered if it was the same fox I'd been hearing scream in the evenings. It tilted its head and took a step forward towards me. I held my breath, my eyes widening. It sure was friendly. Our reverie was disrupted by a sweep of wind as Bonnie raced past me and the fox took off, Bonnie hot on its tail.

"For Pete's sake..." I hopped off the rock and followed their path into the woods. I could hear the crack and snap of branches far ahead but they had disappeared from sight. "Bonnie! Come! Bonnie, come!" I cupped my hands around my mouth, and my voice echoed back to me from across the lake. I pulled the lead from my pocket, jogging over the trail they left in the snow. I cursed my lax behavior, I should have restrained her as soon as I saw her sniffing around.

The stench of something rotten and wrong brought me to a stop. It was a scent I recognized well. One particularly hot summer, Jason and I discovered a rotting deer carcass in the woods, its head at an unnatural angle, innards splayed across the forest floor, and this smelled exactly the same. Thick, sweet, and fetid. It surrounded me and I forced myself to breathe through my mouth. It had to be odd that something could be decomposing so badly in the thick of a snowy winter.

I realized I could no longer hear Bonnie and I began jogging again, calling louder. Five minutes of fruitless searching, I came to a standstill, brought my fingers to my lips and whistled. The sound was ear-splitting and penetrated the forest. It was the Stackhouse family trick. Daddy taught Jason and me how to finger whistle when we were kids playing in the woods at home in Bon Temps. Instead of yelling himself hoarse to get our attention, he would stand on the back porch and whistle so loud it would practically disturb the local wildlife. We'd each whistle back to signal that we'd heard, a sort of call and response, and if he whistled again then it meant it was time to come home. I'd taught Bonnie to come to my whistle from when she was a pup but rarely had to use it.

Bonnie came bounding up to me a minute later, panting and covered in snow from the chin down. I clipped her lead on, keen to move on away from the stench and get home. I had a phone call I needed to make when I got back, one I'd been putting off all week.

"I hope you didn't terrorize that fox," I grumbled to her as we made up our way back up the hill.

After breakfast and a shower, I phoned the office of Dr. Matthew Mahler, the psychologist Dr. Ludwig referred me to. His receptionist cheerfully informed me there was a cancellation that afternoon and I took the booking. The office was in Chester, so I figured I could head in earlier and get some Christmas shopping done first. Christmas was less than two weeks away and I needed to get a wriggle on if I was going to send something to Jason, Crystal and my nephews.

I made it into Chester an hour later, parking along the main strip. I grabbed myself a latte from the first mom and pop coffee shop I walked past and slowly wandered the stores along the main street, enjoying the sunshine and surrounds. Like Lake Douglas, townsfolk caught your eyes here and smiled to say good morning as they passed. I loved how inclusive people were here. So different from growing up in Bon Temps. It was a small town, but it was a small-minded small town.

My phone began buzzing in my pocket and I nearly dropped my cup in my haste to grab my phone. It was Tara, and my disappointment was as bitter as my drink. I was hoping for someone else.

"Hey T," I answered.

"Hey, girl. You busy today? I was hoping you could stop by the station. I have a proposition to make."

"Actually, I'm in Chester. I've got some stuff to do here today. I won't be back till later in the afternoon."

"Damn. Well, maybe I can just tell you now. I was hoping I could bring you on in an official capacity for this investigation."

"Tara…" I didn't like the sound of it.

"No – just hear me out. There's money in the budget for this investigation, I could hire you as a legal consultant."

"That's awful close to nepotism, T. Criminal law, homicide… It's not remotely close to my area of expertise."

"You told me yourself that estate law was like a battlefield in court!" It was true. I'd seen countless families, oftentimes close and happy, turn on one another in court, suddenly vindictive and ruthless, fighting over assets and money after the death of a family member. Like vultures fighting over a carcass.

"It is, but it hardly compares. Surely there's a better use of that money. You're not even at a point that you need legal advice. You have deputies at your disposal."

"I have three full-timers and two part-timers. We are one of the smallest counties in the state by size and population. Our budget is so small we can't even afford to keep on a detective. Our resources are scant, and what little money there is still isn't enough to bring an expert in from somewhere else. Don't even get my started on the Chester sheriff's office. They'd sooner laugh in my face than offer help."

"Okay. And what would you have me do?" I sat myself down on a bench outside an antique store.

"You said there were commonalities between the cases, ones we didn't see yet. I thought you could listen to the interviews, read the facts… Remember when I visited New Orleans back when you were in law school? You had that crazy wall of organization in your dorm, all your notes and info sorted and printed out in those posters and lists on a huge corkboard above your desk?"

I laughed. It really was something else. I had classmates come by just to study in my room so they could use it for reference.

"Maybe you could do something like that?" she asked hopefully.

"Let me think about it, okay?"

"Thank you so much, Sook – seriously, thank you!"

"I'm not saying yes, just that I'd think about it." Although she knew me well enough to know I was going to. Hard to say no to a friend in need, especially one who was a sheriff that could get a little scary. We said our goodbyes and I stayed seated while I finished my coffee. I really didn't know if I was going to be of any help and I felt mighty uncomfortable accepting money for such a task. She was a public servant if anyone deemed it a misappropriation of funds she could face trouble.

My phone beeped and I wondered what else she was adding to sweeten the deal, but it was a message from Eric.

E: Heard you having fun finding Bonnie this morning.

S: She ran off chasing a fox. Sorry if I woke you.

E: That's fine. Can't speak for all the hibernating bears you woke with that whistle.

S: It's a superpower of mine ;)

When he didn't reply I kept moving, stepping into the antique store first. I was relieved he texted, I hoped it meant our friendship was okay, although I guess the flirting was done with. The store had a charming façade, colonial style wooden windows with a curved red and navy fabric awning. The bell rang as I stepped inside and an older man smiled at me from where he sat behind the glass counter. His spectacles were balanced low near the tip of his nose, a Penguin classic in his hand, the book open halfway through.

"Good morning, miss."

"Good morning." I wandered through, the store a lot deeper than I anticipated. Older furniture mostly mahogany and hardwood was out on display. All beautiful but stuff that didn't really suit my cabin. I found a gorgeous antique lap desk inlaid with a delicate gold pattern along the sides. I wondered if Eric would like it, although virtually nobody wrote by hand now, so it was probably useless. It did give me an idea for a similar gift to give him.

I spent time at the jewelry counter where the store owner sat, and we chatted idly about a few pieces that caught my eyes, before I wandered the shelves of books, picking over some of the poetry books. Beside the poetry, I found the occult section. It was surprisingly plentiful. I browsed over a book documenting a series of hauntings, flicking idly through the pages.

"Looking for anything in particular, ma'am?" The shopkeeper was at my elbow, smiling politely.

"No, nothing in particular. I…" I trailed off staring at the open book. It was a fairly recent publication for an antique store, from the 70s, the page I had open displayed a picture of a ransacked kitchen. There were drawers pulled out, items and furniture strewn everywhere. 'Evidence of poltergeist activity' the caption read in fine print. "Wow, do you think that's real?" I asked the shopkeeper.

"My wife is probably the best person to talk about the books from this section. She's the one who sources them. I'll be right back."

I stood awkwardly as he disappeared. I wasn't really after an expert opinion. I wasn't even looking to buy. A few minutes later his wife appeared, she seemed to float as she moved toward me, dressed in a loose-fitting peasant shirt with batik-dyed slacks. I could suddenly picture her picking out all the occult books – her style screamed new age hippy.

"Hello there, my husband Phillip said you had some questions?" She smelled warm like sandalwood, her brown eyes were wide and appraising.

"Well, not really." I looked down at my page. "I just asked if he thought this image was real. I hope he didn't interrupt you, it was a silly question really."

"No silly questions, hon." She lifted the golden-framed glasses attached to a matching chain around her neck and moved closer to see the picture. "Well now, I can't vouch for this particular image but this kind of thing certainly happens." She seemed convinced at least.

"Really?" I stared at the image, reliving my own experiences, which seemed paltry compared to what I was looking at.

"Of course. I've never personally experienced anything this forceful, but I've seen enough in this world to convince me there's something more."

I chewed my lip, feeling more on the fence than ever.

"You having problems, hon?"

"Maybe. I don't think it's ghosts though." I heard Dot's voice in my mind. It follows you, you follow it. "But there's something there."

She seemed curious but didn't pry. The woman led me back to the counter and asked me to wait while she stepped out to grab something from out back. I took the time to examine the contents of the glass cabinet, Phillip perched back on his stool again with his nose buried in his book. I found a delicate pair of screw-back pearl drop earrings. It looked like something Alcide's mom, Joy, would like. The woman returned with a package wrapped in brown paper, just as I finished paying for the earrings.

"It's a smudge stick," she explained. "It's cleansing and it should chase away whatever is bothering you as well as clear the negative energy from your home. Just light it and walk slowly through each room of your house. If you burn it in each of the cardinal points moving in a clockwise direction it will increase its power. And if that doesn't work then," she paused to reach over the register and grab a business card, "give me a call. There are other things we can try."

I looked at the card. Treasure Trove, Antiques and Collectibles, Proprietors: Phillip & Octavia Fant.

"Alright." I smiled. "Thanks."

I managed to finish up most of my Christmas shopping in Chester. I found a cute wooden school bus toy set for Jason's youngest Billy, and a Lego set for his older boy, Mitchell. For Jason and Crystal, I picked a small Christmas hamper from the local delicatessen. They only needed something small since I'd already decided to mail them a check covering the costs of flights for them to visit during summer. Money wasn't an issue and wouldn't be for a long time now I'd received the insurance payouts, so I hoped Jason wouldn't be too proud and would simply accept the gift for what it was. I was excited to keep the Stackhouse summer vacation tradition alive.

I toyed with my phone, debating whether to send Eric another message. What - I didn't know. I just felt the urge to reach out. Instead, after a little googling, I was pleased to discover Russell Edgington still had his furniture design workshop in town. I wandered around the corner and spent nearly twenty minutes in his showroom placing a special Christmas order. A simple Scandinavian style lap desk made from a pale solid-oak. Russell created an inventive design on the spot which impressed me to no end. It folded out so he could use it on the couch or in bed, with stylish air vents in the wood ideal for his laptop. It even had a small secret drawer. Russell was confident he could finish it within a week, especially after I sweetened him with the right price. I went a bit over budget for what was considered a gift for a new friend, but to heck with it. I suspected Eric would love it and I loved gift-giving. It was a good distraction from the sadness that seemed to accumulate like a slow fog this time of year. If things were still tense and weird by Christmas, I could always put it aside to use for myself or give it to him some another time.

My appointment with Dr. Mahler went as well as expected, the majority of the appointment was spent going over my past and explaining the path my life had taken to lead me here. He seemed interested in my need for control, no surprises there, Dr. Ludwig brought it up often, and he encouraged me to make another appointment for the following week which I did. I was hoping next week we could tackle things that I needed to deal with in the here and now… The question of my sanity namely, as well as my fear of future loss.

I went to the instant-print place and bought some picture frames then made some copies of photos I'd brought on a USB. Instead of my wedding portrait, I decided on a picture of Gran, Jase, Alcide, and me taken on my birthday about a year after I'd finished law school. It had been a fun night.

After that, I made my way across to Main Street toward my parking spot, head down and focused on retrieving my car keys from the inner pocket of my handbag when I bumped into someone coming the other way, both of us nearly falling flat on our butts.

"Oh gosh, I'm so sorry." I righted myself and we both crouched to pick up my dropped shopping bags.

"Sookie? Sookie Stackhouse? Oh my god, it's been forever since I've seen you!"

I looked up from my bags and placed the woman immediately.

"Claudine. Hey. I guess it has been a long time." Probably creeping towards 15 years.

"What are you doing in these parts? I thought we'd seen the last of the Stackhouses when your cabin was sold off." Her lips parted as she smiled, revealing two rows of perfectly white teeth. She was still as flawlessly coiffed as I remembered her. Sleek brown hair, not a stray in sight, her face beautifully made up, slim, sleek, gorgeous. Urgh. It had been so long but part of me still wanted to kick her.

"I bought the cabin back again," I explained. "I guess I'm living here now, at least until the end of summer."

"How exciting!" She clapped her hands together with a little squeal. "That means we're neighbors of a sort. I bought the block next to your cabin and built an investment property last year. It's currently being rented by this hunk of a Swede. Have you seen him?"

"Yep, I've seen him. I didn't realize it was your place." Of course. Of course she freaking owned it. Because fate clearly thought my life was a big joke. She linked her arm through mine and walked with me down the footpath.

"Yep, it's mine. I own a bunch of properties. Mostly holiday rentals for the snow season but I've got two places by the lake now. We totally need to catch up. It will be just like old times! Can you believe J.B. and Tara are still together? What about you? Any man in your life? I don't see a wedding ring." She singsonged the words, bumping her hip against mine.

I wondered how hard I would need to bump her back to send her into traffic. Dear Lord, did thinking that make me an awful person? I shouldn't be harboring a grudge after 13 years.

"How's Niall?" I asked, coming to a pause outside my car. Better to just cut off her line of questioning than head down that potential nightmare path of a conversation about dead husbands and reclusive lifestyles.

"Grandfather's fine," she shrugged. "He says he wants to retire and get Claude to handle the resort, but he's probably working more now than ever." The Brigants owned Ridgetop Ski Resort, a luxury resort nestled at the bottom of the ski fields on Mt. Rayner. Niall had always been kind to me but Claudine and Claude…? Well, that was another story.

"Send your grandfather my regards. It's been great seeing you, Claudine." It hadn't. It really hadn't. I unlocked the truck and threw my bags over onto the passenger seat.

"We have to catch up! Give me your number. It will be just like old days, except we can legally drink now. Maybe I can drop by for a catch-up? And I could always use an excuse to see Eric." She pulled her phone from her purse and handed it to me so I could enter my number.

"Excuse to see Eric?" It felt like the blood had left all my extremities and pooled into a swirling pit in my abdomen. I saved my number in her contacts and handed the phone back.

"Any excuse will do. You've seen him! You can't tell me he isn't completely fuckable. And that I can personally attest to." A giggle bubbled from her lips. "But you know those artsy types. Quiet and brooding. He gave me the brush off after just one night so he could focus on his writing. He's an author, you know?"

"Yep." I clenched my jaw, willing the conversation to be over.

"And between us girls? His books aren't the only things that are long and hard to put down."

"I have to get going, Claudine."

"Oh, sorry! Here I am chatting away and holding you up. I'll give you a call later in the week. Christmas drinks?" She brushed a kiss against my cheek and squeezed my shoulders in a gentle hug. I smiled brightly not trusting myself to speak.

I started the car and angrily jammed the stick into first before pulling away. What was it with that woman and cutting my lunch before I had a chance to? Okay, poor euphemism. It wasn't like I had any kind of claim to Eric or that I was evening planning on anything with him. Plus, he was able to see and do who he wanted, but her? Why did it have to be her?

I was mostly calm by the time I arrived home, although I definitely took the corners around Little Bank Road way too fast. I let Bonnie out of the house to do her business and stood in the yard waiting as she trotted around hunting for the perfect tree or bush to piddle on. It had been such a long time since Claudine and I had our issues. I really needed to let bygones be exactly that. Claudine, still as flighty as ever, had seemed genuinely friendly today. My social life wasn't exactly hopping. I decided if she called, then I would accept any invitation to hang out with her. I was here to grow up and move on. Even if there was a distinct chance I might sock her in the mouth if she talked about how great sex with Eric was.

I looked towards Eric's house where a lone path of smoke was rising above the pines. I had to laugh at her description of Eric as quiet and brooding. He was anything but with me. So at least I had that. And the rest? Well, I'd take it one day at a time.


	9. Sleep is for the Weak

I could smell it before I opened my eyes. The air was crisp and moist around me but the stench was hot and rank inside my nose. Rotting and sickly, like that dead, eviscerated deer Jase and I found in the peak of summer. I opened my eyes and gasped. I wasn’t in bed. I scrabbled backward and hit a hard wall. It was dark and dank, I wasn't anywhere at home. A faint drip of water echoed from somewhere further away and the whisper of a breeze called from a different direction, though I couldn’t feel it. 

I twisted around, trying to grasp my bearings. I was somewhere cold, dark and damp. I ran my palms over the rocky surface of the wall behind me, moving down until the tips of my fingers brushed along a hard rocky floor. A cave? My eyes slowly adjusted. A light source emanated from somewhere far away to my right but it was so distant and filtered I could only make out dark silhouettes against an even blacker background. 

“Hello…?” My voice echoed back, loud and unnatural against the permeating silence of the space. My hair prickled up my arms and I ran my hands up and down them trying to soothe away my discontent. Something wet was left behind on my arms. I stopped to examine my hands. Wet and sticky… Painful. I brought my nose to a palm and sniffed. Blood. My palms were split and bleeding, rubbed open and raw. 

“Hello!” I called again, louder this time. 

This feeling… It was familiar. I had experienced it so often at the cabin. Being watched. I was being watched. I knew it the way a rabbit felt the presence a predator before seeing or hearing anything. An evolutionary sixth sense telling them potential death was approaching. Gravel crunched from across the cave, jolting me from my thoughts. I held my breath. I couldn’t grasp how far away the noise was. 10 feet? 20? I fought the urge to panic and run blindly into the darkness.

“Ssssssss…” It hissed from across the cave, gravel crunching as it came closer. A low involuntary moan escaped from me. I curled my knees to my chest. 

“Sss-hhuuuuu…” Its voice was mucousy and thick; the stench too overpowering even at a distance. I gagged. My hands blindly reached out the ground around me, searching in vain to find a rock, a stick, or anything to protect myself. Where was my Benelli when I really needed it? 

“Get away!” I began crying, hardly recognizing the sound of my own voice. 

It moved closer, dragging itself across the gravelly ground, stepping closer into the faint light. Its tall form in silhouette was hunched and black as pitch. I knew innately that this thing was the furthest creature from human I had ever encountered. Two points rose above its head, and my eyes struggled to focus and make sense of them. They weren’t horns… they were like ears. Wolf ears, maybe, but too close together. 

It launched, landing with force against me, knocking my head hard against the back of the wall so hard that I slipped sidewards to the ground, screaming. My voice, so loud, distorted in my ears and reverberated ear-piercingly around the cave. Sharp nails pressed against my shoulders and I felt something foul and thick dripping against my chest and chin. My body shook with sobs, my body begging to flee but I was trapped. There was no fleeing. Its full weight was crushing against me, its breath fetid and wheezing. It hissed again, this time closer to my ear. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak. My chest was so heavy, I could hardly breathe. I squeezed my eyes shut. 

I heard a distant sound, like a lifeline from far away. A bark. It came again, this time closer. A wet nose pressed against my palm and I drew in a deep breath, the paralyzed feeling abating. I opened my eyes and blinked as bright light filled my vision. After a moment I could move my limbs. 

I was in my room. It was morning. 

I gasped in relief, turning to face Bonnie who moved towards me looking for cuddles. I buried myself into her warm, dry neck breathing in her doggy scent. It wasn’t particularly pleasant, but it was familiar and safe. I began crying for real. 

Hands down the worst dream of my life. 

I took a minute to collect myself and got up, pulling the curtains wide open. I needed the daylight to bathe me in reality. I showered until the hot water began to run cold. When I got out, I stood naked under the bathroom heat lamps, examining myself for marks and bruises left by the dream monster. To my relief, there were none. I dressed warmly for the weather and after breakfast I took Bonnie outside for a play in the yard. It was snowing steadily but the wind didn’t have much force behind it. It was pleasant, all things considered. The lake had vanished behind a blanket of white and it felt like all there was to the world was my cabin, Bonnie and the pines around us. 

I threw the ball a little further for Bon, walking around the side of the house. My steps faltered as my foot landed in a deep rut. I looked down, a cold feeling creeping inside my chest. It was a large footprint, followed by a drag mark. There were more leading further around the house and all across the yard. The prints were fresh, maybe only an hour or so old, the fresh snow filling them fast. I thought back to my dream, the crunch of gravel and the dragging sound as the beast drew closer to me. 

“What!?” I screamed out into the white, lifting my arms in frustration. “What do you want? If you want me, just come and get me!” 

Bonnie trotted over, head tilted and confused. She dropped her ball and began bouncing on her front paws, waiting for me to pick it up. I sighed, shoulders drooping. I picked up the ball and threw it half-heartedly. 

No great beast loped out from the forest. There was no guttural hissing reply to my taunt. Whatever was terrorizing me had probably decided it had fucked with my head enough for one day. 

After heading inside, I retrieved the smudge stick from where I’d stuffed into the kitchen odds-and-ends drawer when returning from Chester the day prior. To say I was skeptical was an understatement but at this point, what was left to lose? I lit it over the gas cooker and blew on the embers till the smoke radiated steadily from the stick. Slowly walking, I moved from room to room waving it around. I felt stupid. I couldn’t imagine how the herbal smoke could have any effect on… well, anything. Remembering Octavia’s suggestions, I stood at each cardinal point and walked clockwise again throughout the cabin. 

It was creeping closer to nine am, so I restocked the wood heater with logs and left Bonnie safely locked up in the cabin to drive into Douglas. I had called Tara the night before to let her know I’d accept her temporary consulting position, but only if she didn’t pay me. It would be purely on a volunteer basis. I hoped I would be helpful and, as macabre as the task was, it was nice to be out of the house and have my mind distracted. 

Tara met me in the waiting room of the station and introduced me to the two deputies on staff that day. Kevin, a lanky guy who offered me a sweet, crooked smile, and Kenya, a curvy, black woman who regarded me with a dubious frown during our introduction to one another. Tara led me to a small conference room at the end of the building, it featured a glass window looking onto the station’s main office and was plainly furnished with a dark timber meeting desk, chairs, laptop, printer and large whiteboard. 

“There are office supplies next to the cleaning closet by the kitchenette. If I were you, I’d start by reading over the case files, familiarizing yourself with each one and then go from there.” 

I sat uncertainly when she left me to go deal with a minor car accident involving a handful of vehicles on the outskirts of town. There was always a bunch when winter truly set in, she complained, then left muttering about locals who ought to know better. It reminded me that I needed to get studded snow tires fitted to my truck. The snow was getting deeper by the day. 

I pulled out my cell and quickly called the garage down the road. The mechanic, a gruff sounding guy named Tray Dawson said if I dropped my truck in at lunch he could have the new tires fitted by the end of the business for me. As I tucked my phone away it struck me that I’d finally begun calling it ‘my’ truck, not Alcide’s. It gave my spirits a needed boost and I got stuck into my work. 

Jade Knight, aged 16, missing since June of ’94, last seen at home by her mom.  
Katie Bellefleur, aged 17, younger sister of Terry, missing since August ’96 after failing to return home from a day on the lake.  
Jeni Gagebrook, aged 17, missing since June ’98, last seen at home as parents left for work. Her parents thought she had plans to meet friends in Chester that day, no evidence or witnesses to support this.  
Sarah Johnson, aged 15, missing September ’99, last seen riding her bike down one of the main roads in Douglas at dusk. 

I read through all of the case notes until my vision began to blur and I leaned back in my office chair, rubbing at my eyes. Nothing seemed to stand out from any of the files. I swiveled slowly around in the office chair assessing the room and deciding how I was going to organize it. 

I spotted Kenya watching me from her desk and I waved her in with a smile. She didn’t seem so keen on me, so I thought it better to work on getting her on board. 

With her help, we pinned up large sheets of butcher’s paper on each of the end walls and we decided to divide the huge whiteboard into two sections with marker so that way there was four separate dedicated spaces to pin up information for each missing girl. Kenya printed off large color photos of the girls and I wrote their names on each of their respective walls. We decided on what pieces of information to include and in the end I convinced her that any relevant information should be written on cards and stuck with blu-tac to the corresponding area, that way if it became redundant or we needed more space for new info it could be removed or shuffled around to make fit. 

Kenya opened up as we worked. She was a teen through the 90s and was friends with Katie, not close, but enough to feel and see the effects the missing girl had on the community. Many thought they were runaways, she said, particularly Jade and Katie but by the third missing girl, the concern in the community was palpable. It was nice to get a little insight into how things were then as I was only elementary and middle-school aged when they went missing. 

I stopped for lunch, not feeling like I’d achieved much but hoping Tara would appreciate our efforts in setting up the room. It wasn’t close to the level of my law school super-study board, but it was a start. I ate my salad in the conference room, staring at the smiling faces of the girls. I wondered what they would be doing now if they hadn’t been ripped away from their lives. 

I wondered what I would be doing now if Alcide hadn’t died. Probably still working my butt off at the law firm, while the feelings of discontent and resentment deepened in our marriage. I wish I’d known how little time we had together and never taken it for granted. I would have made the most of it, would have jumped headfirst into all the joy that life could give us. I recalled Jade’s mom Glenda saying something similar. 

I dropped my car at the garage and bundled myself up for the walk back to the station. I sent a text to Eric asking if he wanted me to drop off some dinner for him that evening. I hated the tension that had grown between us, I thought maybe hanging out for an evening would set things right. After a longer than usual wait, he replied with a ;no thank you', telling me he was on a writing roll and didn’t want to stop the momentum he had going. I stared at his reply for longer than I would ever feel comfortable admitting. 

I was a hypocrite. How could I wish to eke all the joy out of life and not want to take moments for granted, yet still purposefully shun potential happiness when I saw it - simply on the chance it could cost me more pain and loss? I couldn’t have it both ways. I couldn’t make the most of life while I squirreled myself away.

It was after six when I got home and darker than usual thanks to the thick cloud cover. The cabin had grown cold, so I switched on all the electric heaters in the living spaces and the one upstairs in my bedroom. I built the fire back up; there were still a few pitiful embers left from the morning so it didn’t take long for it to be roaring. I stood watching at the living room sliding doors as I let Bonnie out to do her business. My phone buzzed in my pocket. 

E: I think it’s my turn to provide food. Lunch here tomo?  
S: Hmm. Have 2 check my sched. Pretty sure I’m washing my hair.  
E: Cheeky. I’ll make it worth your while. Bring swimsuit.  
S: Have u been holding out on me, Northman?  
E: Maybe… Maybe not B-)  
S: I didn’t see a hot tub at your place!  
E: That’s b/c you never got the full tour. Be here at midday.

I bit my lip, trying to hold back my grin. Bonnie had disappeared from sight so I finger whistled and she came bounding out from the forest a moment later, her mane bouncing up and down comically. I brought her in and locked up the house for the night. If I was planning on being swimsuit ready for tomorrow I needed to bust out the razor and lotion, as well as go through the unpacked boxes of summer clothes to find my bikini. I’d do it all with a spring in my step too.


	10. Sleep is for the Weak - Pt. 2

I was wide awake. I didn’t know what woke me - but something had. I’d unplugged my digital clock out of frustration one sleepless night a week earlier, so I had no clue what the time was, either. Clearly late. The clouds had moved on and moonlight was casting a dim glow in my room from around the curtains. I lifted my head to check on Bonnie at her usual spot on the floor. Her head was raised too, ears pricked. 

She jumped to her feet suddenly and took off down the stairs, her nails clicking against the floorboards. I laid back down and listened to her running back and forth along the sliding glass doors downstairs. Something out there was exciting her. It’s probably that fox, I reasoned with myself. Still, my heartbeat picked up. 

A few minutes later she was back by my side, prancing on her toes. I sat up with a groan, flicking on my reading lamp. 

“Need to pee, girl?” 

She yipped and took off back down the stairs. I retrieved my knee-length goose down parka from the hook inside my wardrobe before padding downstairs in my slippers to meet her. She was waiting impatiently by the sliding door, tail wagging at a million miles an hour. 

“Hang on, Bon.” I jogged to the front door and grabbed the lead from its peg. Last thing I needed was to be traipsing the woods in the middle of the night looking for her. 

As soon as the door was open Bonnie was dragging me out onto the snow. When Bonnie was acting willfully she could be strong as an ox and I just about fell to my knees trying to keep up with her. Her nose was down, ears twitching as she rapidly sniffed over the thick blanket of snow that had been deposited over the last day. The footprints left earlier would now be long gone. 

Shit. My shotgun was still inside. 

“Hurry up, Bonnie,” I hissed trying to walk her over to a bush she particularly favored. She pulled me instead along the perimeter of the house and by the deck, her nose buried deep in the scent of something far more interesting than relieving herself. She stopped suddenly and looked up at the roof. I looked up also, I could see nothing but the thick cover of white that obscured the roofing tiles. 

Adrenaline was starting to kick in and flight and fright were desperately shouting at me to get back inside. Bonnie pulled me again towards the tree line back on the trail of her scent again. 

"Bonnie!" I complained. "Hurry up. It's cold." And I am this close to needing to change my underpants. 

She came to a standstill and stared into the darkness of the woods. She was staring at something out there. My gaze traveled past hers. There was something out there. I couldn't see it. But I could feel it. I could feel it staring back. 

That was my cue. 

“Bonnie!” I gave a sharp tug and led her back inside. I practically leaped over the threshold before locking the door and running up the stairs, taking them two at a time. I threw off my outdoors layers and climbed back into bed and Bonnie followed suit, curling up in her bed too. I checked my phone. It was 12:24. I sighed and rolled over, hoping to fall back asleep quickly. But it wasn’t going to happen. 

Every familiar settling creak of the cabin set me on edge. Even the whirring sound of the duct pumping wood-fired heat from downstairs sounded discordant rather than its usual comforting white noise. My ears strained to hear anything out of the ordinary. Get a grip, Sookie. Take a breath. Relax. I forced myself to move my focus to my mindfulness techniques and after many tense minutes, I slowly felt the edges of my adrenaline rush softening. 

_Thud._

My eyes snapped open. 

_Drag… Thud, drag… Thud, drag… Thud, drag…_

I sat up and stared up at the ceiling. Bonnie lifted her head to look up at the same point as me. 

_Thud, drag… Thud, drag…_

It was on the roof. The silhouette of the rotten beast from my dream appeared in my mind; its great loping shape, its unnatural gait. Was that what was up there? Making good on my foolish offer to come and get me from earlier that morning? 

Bonnie jumped to her paws and scurried to the curtain covered glass door that led to the balcony adjacent to my bedroom. She began her familiar excited prance, wanting to be let out. 

I swallowed, not knowing what to do. Minutes passed, Bonnie whining impatiently. This is it, Stackhouse, I told myself. Was I going to keep living here in fear, trapped inside on the off chance I might get hurt? Or was I going to woman up and face whatever was out there?

I got up and pulled my shotgun out, loading it with shells. 

Screw this horror movie of a life I’d been living. I was done. Done with being scared and uncertain. Done with questioning my sanity. Done with taking the safe route and letting the world pass me by. 

I pulled my coat on and grabbed my cell phone, turning on the flashlight app. I pulled open the curtains and unlocked the door to my bedroom balcony, sliding it open. Bonnie nosed past me and I followed, my slippered feet crunching over the snow. I shone the light around us and then up over the roof. 

Nothing was visible. Hard to tell but I couldn’t see any footprints either. Maybe a branch fell on the roof, or some critter decided to use my house as a bridge between trees? Bonnie was happy to be back in the outdoors, even within the confines of my balcony and finally decided to mark her territory in the far corner. How lovely. I pocketed my cell and took a moment to enjoy the beauty of Lake Douglas at night. I had a perfect outlook from here, the reflections in the water rippled and distorted by the breeze, creating a surreal reflection of the hills and peaks surrounding the lake. 

My eyes came to rest on the stand of enormous pines that hugged my property. As my vision adjusted I could make out the individual branches and snow covered boughs. There, between two of the highest branches, I made out the hunched dark silhouette of something. Someone. 

I felt the blood rapidly drain from my face, a panicked dizziness setting in. Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap. 

The dream beast. 

One twisted arm was held above it, grasping the nearest branch. The same two points adorned its head. I raised my shotgun, turning off the safety and backed away from the railing. It was motionless. Watching me. I couldn’t see it watching, but somehow I just knew it was. 

_He wants to use you_ , Dot said. 

I heard Bonnie’s whining from behind me. My bravado demolished one ragged breath at a time, I slowly stepped backward until I hit the glass of the screen door. I fumbled behind me and wrenched it open. Bonnie followed me in and I pulled the door closed with a bang, turning the lock into place. 

I stood stock still, staring at the figure, its silhouette black as a coal mine. I considered running downstairs and turning on the flood lights, finally getting a glimpse of what it was but I was frozen in place. Unable to move, unable to break my gaze. 

Bonnie whined at my feet again and I spared her a glance, dropping a pat onto her head. I looked back up, my eyes scanning until I found the branch again. It was empty. My heart jolted in my chest and I pulled the curtains shut, moving back to sit on the bed.

What did I do? Call Tara? Call Eric? Sit with my shotgun aimed at the door all night? I withdrew my phone from my pocket and slid from the bed to the floor, bringing my knees up so I could balance the barrel between them and keep it aimed at the door. I shot a quick text to Eric. 

S: There’s something outside in the trees. 

Bonnie settled beside me, her hind legs trembling, her tail tucked between her legs. Minutes passed. Half an hour. Eric didn’t reply but maybe there was no need? All was quiet now. Was it worth waking him if nothing else happened tonight?

 _Click, click, click._

I stilled, Bonnie lifted her head looking to the door straight before us. 

_Click, click, click._

I tried to stifle my cry, biting hard into my lip until I tasted blood. I cocked the gun, pointing it at the door, the tremor in my hands causing my aim to bounce around more than I’d like. 

_Click, click, click, click._

The tapping was recognizable. A fingernail against glass. Tears obscured my vision. The lock began rattling, the sliding door knocking around in its track. With my free hand, I pulled up Eric’s contact and dialed. 

“What’s wrong?” His voice was thick with sleep but he was alert. 

“There’s something here,” I whispered. “It’s here. It’s at my balcony door, tapping on the glass, trying the lock.” 

“Fuck! Hang on.”

I let the phone fall to the bed and resumed my aim of the Benelli. My legs felt like coiled springs ready to snap, my palms were sweaty under the cool weight of the weapon. I wanted so desperately to be anywhere but here. To just close my eyes and open them somewhere bright, safe and not this place. But I was here, where fear and panic had replaced the blood in my veins. It was pumping through me, making every nerve twitch and burn like ice on hot skin. 

_Click, click, click._

I stared at the cream curtains. They were the thick blackout kind. I had only to crawl forward and snap them to the side and I would face what was taunting me, making my life hell. I would see the rotten beast’s face, illuminated by the light of my reading lamp.

Don’t do it, Sook, I heard Alcide say. Just wait. Don’t do it. 

I sobbed, pressing the back of my hand to my mouth. I didn’t know if it was him or my subconscious talking but I sure as hell was going to listen. 

Minutes passed, the rattling lock stopped but the clicking continued, slowly morphing to a shudder-inducing screech as it dragged its nail across the glass. I imagined it leaning against the door, its foul breath causing the glass to mist over. 

The sound of an engine rumbling down the drive caused the scrapes to halt. Eric began banging at the door downstairs, calling out to me and I leaped to my feet, Bonnie at my tail. 

“Jesus, Sookie! You’re okay,” he said when I yanked open the door and I pulled him in. He was barefoot, dressed in plaid pajama pants and a navy blue long-sleeve thermal. I gave him a trembling smile and locked the door shut behind him, turning the deadbolt. “Are the police on their way?” 

“What? No!” I took to the stairs again, climbing them silently, gun aimed. 

“What do you—“

“Shhh.” I took the final step up to the second floor and waited for Eric to move by my side. 

“I’m calling the police,” he hissed. “You’re being stalked!” 

“Put your phone away,” I whisper shouted at him. “You can’t call them. What could they do? Whatever’s out there isn’t human.” 

That shut him up. I crept closer to the door, turning my head to search for Bonnie. She had settled herself back into her bed, her snout resting on her paws. I stood in front of the doors, debating whether or not to pull the curtain back. Eric took the lead and pulled them back for me. The balcony was empty. The only evidence of any activity being the snow, scuffed and kicked around by me, Bonnie and… it. 

I pressed the safety on and lowered the gun. 

“What do you mean, it’s not human?” he asked. “Not human as in an animal, or…?” 

“I think–” I cleared my throat as my voice broke. “I think the second one.” I flicked off the lamp, the room falling dark, and I moved to the sliding door, scanning the trees. My vision didn’t take as long to adjust this time. The trees were empty. It was gone. Or so I hoped. 

I started at the beginning, telling Eric about my strange dream the night before, the footprints around the house I’d discovered upon waking, using the smudge stick to cleanse the cabin, before finally recounting all that had happened over the last hour. He stared at me intently as I spoke, one half of his face in shadow the other half pale and ghostly in the moonlight.

“Its shape is almost human, but not. Like its form was too hulking and it had these points on top of its head,” I mimed the shape above my own head with my free hand. “Ears, or horns, or maybe it was wearing a hat or something.” 

“So what are you thinking? Bigfoot?” 

“Pfft… The thought never crossed my mind, but I don’t think Sasquatch explains what happened when I fell outside, or how the door unlocked and opened on its own.” I switched the lamp back on and sunk to the bed. Eric pulled the curtains closed again and sat beside me. 

“I thought you only believed in what you could see in the here and now,” he said quietly. He took the gun from my hands and laid it on the bed, barrel pointed away from us. I didn’t meet his eyes at first, picking at a stray thread on quilt. 

“I do,” I whispered. “But I also don’t really think I’m crazy… Do you?” 

“No.” His voice was firm, gaze unwavering. 

“If I’m not crazy and whatever is happening is beyond normal explanation then…” 

“Then it’s something abnormal. Extra ordinary.” 

I nodded. He placed his warm hand on top of mine, stilling my nervous thread pulling. 

“C’mon. Let’s go downstairs. You’re shaking like a leaf.” He pulled Gran’s old afghan from the bottom of the bed and wrapped it around my shoulders. “I’ll make you some tea and I’ll call my ranger friend.”

Still wrapped in the ugly blanket, I burrowed myself into the forest green armchair beside the fire, nursing the mug of chamomile tea Eric handed me. I could hear him softly speaking on the phone in the kitchen. 

“He’ll be here soon,” he said, settling himself onto the couch a few minutes later. “I didn’t tell him much, but, a warning, he already has it in his head it’s Bigfoot since I showed him those pics of the tracks.” 

“So that’s where that suggestion came from,” I took a sip of my tea, trying to lose myself in the taste and aroma. 

“Yeah. It wouldn’t be my first guess either.” He stretched his long legs out on the couch, resting his feet on the arm at the other end, ankles crossed.

“I wonder why it didn’t unlock the balcony door when it ... or something seemed to unlock the front door just fine last week.”

“Maybe that smudge stick actually did something? Protected your home somehow?” 

“Maybe. I need to go back to the antique store tomorrow and see that lady again.”

“I think we should pay a visit to the nursing home too.” 

I smiled gratefully at him, so thankful that he was including himself in my dramas. Independence came naturally to me, I was so used to doing everything on my own, but hearing him say ‘we’ made my throat grow tight with emotion. 

As we waited for the ranger, Eric dragged the coffee table away from the window back to the couch and we sat, knees touching, working together on the puzzle. 

“This was clearly made for masochists,” he grumbled after trying and failing to place the fifth piece he’d picked up. 

“There’s nothing masochistic about liking a challenge,” I said pressing the piece I was holding into place. What a satisfying feeling. I felt his eyes on me and I looked at him curiously. 

“Well, that I can agree with,” he smirked, brow raised and expression playful. I laughed softly. He was so damned good-looking, I could hardly think straight when I was around him. He was tall and strong in a way so very different to Alcide; Eric’s form lean and long, like a swimmer. And he liked me.

I leaned to him, pressing my lips against his. He jerked slightly in surprise and I rested my hand against his stubbly cheek to keep him in place. His lips, firm and smooth, moved immediately in response to mine. I brushed my tongue against his lower lip and he brought his arm around my waist, cinching me closer to him. Our kiss deepened and I slung my other arm behind his neck, moaning as his fingertips traced a tingling path along my spine under my flannel pajama shirt. 

He pulled away, cupping my hand against his cheek then placing a kiss inside my wrist. 

“I’ve wanted this since the second I met you,” he whispered, voice gravelly. He brushed his lips against mine gently. His mouth moved along my jawline and he kissed down the path of my neck, sending a wave of pleasure all the way to my toes. I linked both of my arms behind his neck, giving myself over to the moment. 

“And here I was thinking I’d moved next to some maniac who had it out for my trees,” I managed to pant. He laughed into my neck, his breath hot and face pleasantly rough. 

“Well, if you thinking that means we get to do this, then I guess I’ll be investing in a chainsaw.” He pulled away, an impish grin lighting up his face. We heard the rumble of a truck and moments later headlights shone through the curtains on the windows by the front entry. 

“That’ll be Sam,” he said and the reality of the evening came rushing back to me. I’d almost managed to forget the horror of the night in the span of the last few minutes. My face paled and Eric helped me to my feet before pulling me into a tight embrace. I leaned against him, grateful for him. 

“It’s going to be fine,” he said, resting his cheek against the top of my head. I got the impression he didn’t say it to comfort me, but rather to reassure himself.


	11. Obstinate, headstrong girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back after the flu from hell! Thanks for being patient. 
> 
> The chapter title is a quote from one of my all time favorite books, Pride and Prejudice.

When Eric opened the front door, Sam and I gawped at each other in surprise before we both began speaking at once. 

“Of course you’re the park ranger!” 

“Sookie! You’re back at your old place!” 

We both laughed and I led him into the living area, Eric trailing behind. Sam let out a low whistle as he looked around, poking his head around the corner into the kitchen. 

“You’ve done some good work here, Sook.” 

“Thanks,” I beamed. “And you! Look at you. Finally got a job in the parks service after all those years talking about it.” He’d changed some, more wrinkles where there’d only been smile lines, gray hair mixed liberally with the strawberry blonde. It all suited him, especially his park ranger uniform, which he must have changed into after receiving Eric’s call.

I turned to Eric, who was standing between us and looking a little thrown. 

“Sam was my old boss back in the day,” I explained. “I worked a few summers on the lake as a part-time life guard. Sam was one of the supervisors there for almost as long as I’d known him. Thanks for coming out so late,” I said, directing my attention back to Sam. He had crouched down giving Bonnie, who was by the fire pretending to be asleep, a good scratch behind the ears. “I know Eric said you didn’t mind…” 

He shook his head in protest, standing up. “Nope. Think nothing of it. I’m keen to see these tracks. The pictures Eric sent the other day got me intrigued.” 

Eric flopped down onto the couch. “I think your exact words were: ‘Holy shit, if you find anymore I need to see them IRL’.” 

Sam chuckled, perching his wiry frame on the edge of the armchair. “Yeah, that’d be closer to the truth. Now, Sookie,” he said turning to me, his cheer fading. “Want to explain what happened here tonight?” 

I shared a look with Eric as I seated myself on the opposite end of the couch from him. Eric’s face was one of understanding and I caught the unsaid meaning. He would support me with however much I wanted to share. I wanted to scoot closer to him and take his hand but thought better of it. Whatever we were was too new, and ultimately this whole situation was my problem to face. I would be no shrinking violet. 

I lifted my chin, steeling myself and told Sam about the multiple incidences of tracks I’d found around my property and the encounter from earlier that evening. Sam nodded throughout, although his eye took on an unusual gleam. I made sure to steer my explanation away from anything …extra-ordinary.

“Have you heard of anything like this?” I asked. I didn’t want to tell him about the other occurrences just yet. I thought it best to scope out his opinion first. 

“Now, now. I don’t wanna jump the gun. Let’s go look at the tracks first and we’ll go from there.” 

I donned my coat and boots and grabbed the Benelli. When Eric moved to follow us out the front door I stopped him with a raised palm.

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

“Coming out to have a look. Clearly.” He crossed his arms, his chin jutted out like a stubborn toddler. 

“You are barefoot and have no warm coat. You can turn on the flood lights for us if you like, the switch is beside the sliding door, but you are staying inside.” 

“But–“ 

“Nope. No argument. I have my gun and Sam with me.” I pulled the door shut behind me on the unamused and unimpressed 6’4 hunk I couldn’t believe I’d actually kissed only a few minutes earlier. The floodlights flicked on as we walked around to the lakefront side of the cabin. 

There were prints everywhere. The thing's prints mostly - not just mine and Bonnie's. I stood by holding the torch as directed by Sam while he measured a print and took photos. I kept the gun over my shoulder, loaded, safety on and pointed away from us. Grandpa Mitchell was a stickler for gun etiquette and his habits stuck with me too. My eyes darted cautiously between what Sam was doing and the tree line the whole time.

“You know there's a large collection of documented Sasquatch prints from various locations around the country?” Sam said, measuring the depth of the print and writing it into a tiny spiral notepad that he’d pulled from his coat pocket. I didn't respond, from his enthusiasm I could tell he was busting to share. “A professor of anthropology and anatomy has cataloged a set of prints from an unknown species up in the Pacific Northwest. The prints had a distinct and hard to fake crippled foot. He was skeptical of Bigfoot until he saw them. Those prints were enough to convince him of their existence.”

“Is this what you think it is?” Because I knew it wasn't. It was something far more sinister. Nightmarish. I wished it was only a friendly giant ape roaming the forest.

“Hmm. They are some kind of creature, alright. These prints are too short to be Bigfoot, typically their footspan is in the range of 15-18 inches. ”

“You've seen Bigfoot prints before?” I was shocked. I never really put any stock in the myth of Bigfoot. 

He chuckled, rusty colored hair shaking in dissent. 

“Oh no. Not even so much as a rumor of a sighting in the area. Although I have to say, I get the odd feeling when I'm out in the forest. That sense of something being out there. Like something’s watching, you know?” He looked up at me and I felt a chill run down my spine.

“Yeah, I know.” That feeling was the one thing I could consistently count on during my walks since I arrived at Lake Douglas. 

“I'm not saying I believe in Bigfoot, but the idea of an uncatalogued species that are descended from the homo genus or Gigantopithecus is pretty exciting. As for these prints… Well, I don't know. They're closer to human size and while it's clearly walking around on two legs it's certainly not human. This drag here obscures the shape of one foot. And here,” he pointed to the next print, “You can see there's two toes, maybe a third here at the back... it could be a hoof or heel. My guess is that it’s been injured or maybe its other foot, or paw - whatever it is - is deformed. An injured bear maybe, drawn out of hibernation after an attack.” 

Sam spent much too long for my comfort examining each print and taking photos on his camera. My feet jittered on the spot, nervous energy returning. I was eager to return to the safety of indoors. 

When we got back in, we discovered Eric had fallen asleep on the couch with a movie going. His arm was curled under his head like a makeshift pillow. Bonnie was asleep on the floor beside him, no doubt seeking affection while they waited for our return. I turned the TV down and walked Sam out to his car. 

“Thank you, Sam.” I said, hugging my arms to my chest, trying to keep the cold at bay. “I really appreciate you comin’ all the way out here.”

“Think nothing of it, cher,” he said, calling me by his old pet name. It started as a joke some fifteen years earlier after ribbing me for being a southern belle and somehow the moniker stuck. “Great to see you. Blast from the past.”

“Tell me about it. Glad to see you doing so well for yourself. Do you still see the old crew? Rene, Buddy and all the rest?” 

“We’ve all moved on from our lifeguard days, but most of them stuck around. You know us mountain people, Sook.”

“Lifers,” we said in unison and laughed. Such was the way of small-town folk. And I suppose me too. From growing up in Bon Temps to settling back in Douglas many years later.

“Still getting around with Dawn these days?” 

“God, no.” He pulled a face. “That ended in a battle, predictably.” 

“She finally drove off into the sunset in that hotted up Camaro of hers?” Boy, had she loved that car. Probably more than she loved Sam, though the two of them got around town in that metallic gray beast, even through the thick of winter, goodness knows how.

“More like she burned rubber.” He sighed ruefully. They’d had a wild off and on relationship. “I'm married now. Melanie. She's the best thing that's happened to me. Life seems to have worked out. What about you? I heard on the grapevine a few years back that you were busy living a big city life; fancy job, husband, business.”

“Oh well…” I trailed off wondering how much was acceptable to share during small talk with an old friend. “Life has a funny way of taking you places you never expect. I'm a widow now and living here.”

His face dropped from one of innocent interest into a mixture of surprise and sympathy. 

“It's fine,” I said hurrying to speak over the inevitable turn the conversation was about to take. The I'm-sorry-to-hear-that and the you-are-so-brave. “It was earlier last year. I'm doing fine, getting on with life. Especially now I'm back here. ” Okay, maybe it wasn’t exactly the truth, but I needed to erase his pitying look. I was jack of it after seeing little else from everyone for the last 18 months. 

“I'm sorry to hear, Sookie. Just let me know if you need anything. Work gets quiet through winter so I have time to help now. In fact, you should come down to the ranger station for a visit one day. My colleague is working on a project documenting and recording the oral history from people in the area. I'm sure he’d love to hear some of your tales from growing up here. He might’ve heard something from locals about your animal, too.” 

I locked up the house after Sam left and draped the quilt from my bed over Eric. The idea of waking him made me anxious, I didn't want him to go home until morning. He shifted a little, letting out a soft snore. It was any wonder I managed to wake him with my call earlier that night. He apparently slept like the dead. 

I filled the fireplace with the last of the logs in the wood basket and curled back into old corduroy armchair I'd sat in before. I pulled Gran’s old yarn-busting afghan tight around me. The huge dose of adrenalin had left me hollow, rattled and exhausted in every which way. Mentally, physically, emotionally. I put on that dumb Adam Sandler comedy and passed out halfway through the opening credits. 

I smelled the coffee before my eyes even opened. I smiled and hummed appreciatively. It reminded me of mornings with Alcide, his ritual of waking me with a steaming cup after getting back from his morning run with Bonnie. I loved our mornings together. How we moved seamlessly around each other getting ready for work. It was a kind of choreography we had down to a fine art. Sharing the bathroom and easily scooting around each other in the kitchen. Him plating my breakfast while I fixed our lunches. The goodbye kiss and wave as we drove off in opposite directions. I had fixated on that last goodbye kiss for a long time after the accident. 

I forced my eyes open and stretched my legs out. They were cramped and tingly. 

“She wakes.” Eric placed a coffee cup down on a corner of the coffee table closest to me and sat down on the couch. “I've had to check you were even alive. You are the quietest sleeper. You barely move or stir.”

“I think it was more falling unconscious, rather than sleeping. Last night took it out of me.” I yawned and brought the coffee cup to my face, breathing in what was possibly the best scent in the whole world. “This is perfect, thanks. What time is it?”

“Almost seven-thirty. That morning sun is blinding in here. Couldn't sleep any longer.” 

We fell into silence, turning over the previous evening's events. 

“What did Sam say?” he asked after we’d both taken a sip.

“Not a whole lot. It's not human, not a Sasquatch, not anything he's seen. His guess was an injured bear. He invited me to go down and speak with one of the other rangers at the park. He might know something.”

“How much did you tell him?” 

“Just the basics. The explainable stuff, I guess. I wasn’t comfortable elaborating any further about the stranger happenings.” 

Eric nodded in understanding, stretching out into a more relaxed position on the couch. I tried not to stare.

“So, do you still want to head into Chester today?” he asked.

“Yes,” I confirmed, nodding. “I can’t spend another night here without trying something more. Or at least investigating it further.”

“About that…” Eric set his cup down, his face turning serious as he raked his hand through his hair. “Maybe you should come stay with me for a few nights? I have a spare room. Just until we know what's happening here.”

“No, don't be ridiculous.” I waved my hand dismissively. “Whatever it is can't get in otherwise it would have succeeded last night. It will be fine.” Looking around the cabin in the bright light of morning confirmed that. It felt cozy and safe. 

“Hardly ridiculous,” he said, his forehead drawing into a deep frown. “You have no idea what it is. You seem convinced that it’s something not of this world. Fuck, Sookie – you have me convinced too. Why risk something happening? You shouldn't be alone.” 

“Newsflash, Eric. I _am_ alone. I’ve managed the first thirty years of my life unscathed, I can handle this too.” 

“If you were fine alone you wouldn’t have phoned me last night.” His annoyed expression was quickly giving way to anger. I bit my tongue, holding back an acerbic retort and took a deep breath. 

“This is my home,” I said finally. “I won’t be chased away. I’ll shoot that thing dead between the eyes before I leave my home out of fear.” 

“Are you even listening to yourself? You were a quivering wreck when I got here last night! It’s okay to need help – to ask for help.” 

I gritted my teeth. He was right, I was all bluff and bluster. Big talk, no action. In the face of that awful thing I couldn’t even bear to part the curtain to look at it, let alone shoot it. I wasn’t sure it could be shot. It grabbed me from inside my own boot, for heaven’s sake! A sign it wasn’t operating under the normal rules of everyday life. 

“Who exactly does it help if I leave? What if it just stays here waiting, or follows me? Leaving solves nothing.” 

“And what if it gets in? Then you die alone up here,” he said gesturing around the cabin. “All because you were too foolish and stubborn to accept your limitations.” 

“My limitations?” I scoffed, hardly believing his words. “Can you even hear yourself right now? So, what’s your great alternative here? You swoop in like some white knight and whisk me away from the big bad? You have some gall asking me to listen to myself! How are you better equipped to do anything about this thing than I am? You live a hop, skip and jump from me. It could just follow me to your place. And I bet you dollars to donuts I’m a better shot than you, blindfolded and spun till I’m dizzy!” 

“So what’s your grand plan for solving this?” he shot back angrily. “Burning another smudge stick and hoping for the best? Or cowering in your bedroom with your dog and shotgun?” 

I gasped in indignation. “Are you always such an asshole?” 

“Are you always so willfully stubborn? I’m trying to help you out here, but you seem intent to ignore reason and do the exact opposite!” 

“Look, I appreciate your help,” I ground out. “And you are most welcome to stay in one of my spare rooms but I’m sure as hell not going anywhere. This is my home. _Mine_. I have little else in this world. And I am not leaving. I’m not going to be forced out. You can’t convince me otherwise.” I stood up, slamming my coffee on the table, liquid slopping everywhere over the edges. I growled at my foolishness and stormed to the kitchen grabbing a cloth to wipe the mess down. 

“Sookie… I’m not trying to force you out.” 

“Just don't even talk to me right now,” I snapped at him. I cleaned up and back in the kitchen aggressively wrung the cloth under hot water, hanging it to dry on the dish rack. I grabbed the edge of the basin trying to collect myself. I was not going to leave. This house was like my baby. It was the only thing that kept me going the last few months. The only bright spot I’d had in my life to look forward to. I poured my heart and soul into remodeling the place. Making it a new home for myself. He didn’t understand. I couldn’t adequately describe what leaving this place meant. It was like admitting defeat. Like giving up on myself and my grief.

I marched past Eric and began stomping up the stairs. 

“Where are you going?” he yelled after me. 

“I’m going to take a shower if that’s alright with you. Or do I need your permission to complete basic tasks around the house too? I suggest you go home and get dressed. I’ll be leaving here in a half hour whether you’re back or not.” 

Forty minutes later I sat in the driveway, truck idling when Eric emerged from the woods, jogging up to the passenger seat. 

“I didn’t think you’d leave without me.” He smirked, zipping off his coat and buckling himself into the passenger seat. 

He had showered and dressed in black fitted jeans, boots, and a Pink Floyd t-shirt with a striped thermal underneath. His hair was still damp, blonde tendrils falling across his forehead. I didn’t reply, opting to roll my eyes and maneuver the truck up the driveway towards the road. If he hadn’t looked so darn hot I might have been able to come up with a suitably snarky response.


	12. Conflict Resolution

The car trip was silent until I stopped at Douglas to grab us some breakfast. Eric followed me into the Dutch bakery while I ordered more coffee and a selection of pastries for breakfast. He was smart enough to let me pay, although I saw his hand twitch when the order was rung up. 

I sat down at a small table by the cottage style window looking out onto Main Street and he sat across from me, a quirk of amusement playing at his lips. 

“I’d figure we could share,” I said, in what I hoped was a conciliatory tone. I cut the pastries in half and push the plate to the middle of the table where we could both reach. “I know I’m stubborn, Eric. It’s one of my many flaws. Probably the biggest. I do appreciate all the help you’re willing to give. Just… Just be mindful that I’m not operating at my best at the moment. Or really for the last few years.” 

I sighed, toying with the sugar packet I’d emptied into my coffee. I wasn’t sure what I was trying to say. I just wanted him to understand I wasn’t the person I wanted to be. He took my hand in his, turning it over and curling his long fingers through mine. 

“It’s fine. You’re a spitfire. I like it. Your accent gets really southern when you yell. It’s sexy as hell. I bet you’re an even bigger minx in the bedroom.” He raised his brows and gave me a look that made me want to squirm. I shushed him, kicking him gently on the shin under the table. An older couple at the next table shot us a disapproving look. I felt my cheeks burn and I was sure I'd melt right through my seat and into a puddle of embarrassment onto the floor. “I’m stubborn too, Sookie. I’m not used to not getting my way. I think we’re alike in many ways.” 

“I don’t know about that,” I said, taking a bite of my apricot danish. “You’re pretty darn skilled at pissing me off, and I’m beginning to suspect rather than getting PO’d when we fight, you just get a pervy kick out of it.” 

Eric laughed loudly, subjecting us to another glare from the couple, but I just smiled back at him, warmed. The tension was gone. It felt good. After, we walked slowly back to where I parked my truck, our sleeves brushing close to each other. 

“We need to call a moratorium on the fighting until we get through what’s happening at your place,” he said. 

“I won’t make any promises, but I can aim to be better.” We stopped beside the truck as I fished the keys from my purse.

“Ah, spoken like a true lawyer.” He leaned down and brushed his lips lightly against mine. He pulled away just as I moved to deepen the kiss. I stood there gaping as he let himself into the passenger seat, making no attempt to hide his smug expression. 

Our first stop was Golden Oaks retirement home. The nurse at reception directed me and Eric to the visitor register and told us Dot’s room number in case she wasn’t relaxing in the day room. She was in the day room though, dressed in another large shirt, a blue and white hairline stripe. It reminded me a little of a Chux cloth. 

Once again, she was seated at the card table in the corner. I wondered if it was set up specifically for her. She was playing a different variation of her solitaire game, I wasn’t sure if it was a legitimate game or one of her own imaginings. Either way, she was absorbed and didn’t notice our presence until I moved the chair back to sit opposite her. 

She smiled broadly at me again. 

“Susannah Still Alive! So good to see you. Sit on down. I’m playing a good hand right now.” Her thin fingers made busy work across the cards; she flipped and reordered them, their sequence making no sense. 

“Hi Dot, nice to see you again too. This is my friend, Eric. We were hoping you wouldn’t mind having a chat with us today.” 

Dot responded with a distracted nod still looking at her game and Eric pulled another chair over to our table. 

“Is that spider solitaire?” he asked, his face friendly and inquisitive. 

“Why, yes!” Dot exclaimed and clapped her hands together once. She looked up with triumph at Eric. “It’s a goody, this game.” We watched on for a quiet minute as she played out the game. 

“Dot, do you remember the things you were saying to me last week?” 

“Sure thing, doll. That leech of yours giving you a hard time, is he?” She scooped up the cards and began shuffling them. Cards slipped out from the thick stack falling onto the table but without a word, Eric took the deck gently from her hands, picked up the strays and began shuffling them smoothly. Dot leaned back in her seat, loopy grin spreading wide across her cheeks.

“Well, I had a few questions," I said. "Like who he is and what he wants me for. I'm hoping you can help me? You said he wants to use me.” 

“Is this your sweetie?” she asked, nodding her head towards Eric. 

“Oh,” I felt a red flush prickle upwards from the collar of my blouse. “Um, I-“

“Yes,” Eric declared, pulling my hand across to his lap and squeezing it in his before getting back to shuffling. I left my hand resting on his thigh. She nodded slowly appraising us, the creases in her forehead deepening. 

“Well, you two won’t work as long as he’s around. Too much unfinished business.” 

“What do you mean? Who?” I asked, feeling my patience thin. I wasn’t inclined to snapping at an elder in full view of others but I was getting close. Eric gave my hand another quick squeeze in support. Or warning. I wasn’t sure. 

“He’s your enemy,” she said finally. “A wicked satyr, I ‘spose you could call him. He’s no god though. As for your other questions, I can’t say I’m really in the know with ol’ Grim. I only hear what I hear.” She held her hands out impatiently for the cards and Eric passed them over. 

“My enemy?” It wasn’t the first time she’d call him that. I could hardly deny it, though. 

“No,” she admonished like I was a child who misunderstood a simple request. “Your enemy.” 

Eric and I shared a look and I left out a puff of frustration. She slapped the cards down onto the plastic surface of the white table, dealing out another round. 

“Your enemy will use you, whether you want it or not. No use fighting it. It’s destiny. He’s latched on your spirit and won’t let go until you’ve done his deeds, the ones he can’t complete.” 

I felt a shiver pass through me. What kind of awful deeds did it want me to do?

“Did you know the local children visit at Christmas and perform carols?” Her tone was upbeat and she grinned suddenly when she drew a queen and king of spades consecutively. “They’ll be here next week, just awful on the piano, but the staff serve eggnog!” She was positively gleeful. I guess that concluded the nightmare sharing portion of the day. Eric prodded her a little more but she responded vaguely and we ended up chatting politely with her about Christmas at the home for a few minutes before we bid her goodbye. 

I wondered what Glenda did at Christmas, alone in the home? We walked down the hall a short way and stood beside a large window that looked into a tiny internal courtyard. It was a greenhouse of sorts, hosting a variety of small plants and interesting shrubbery. A kind of zoo for flora, breaking up the drabness of the linoleum floors and tired landscape prints that adorned the cream walls. I rested against the wooden handrail that ran the length of the corridor, facing the courtyard. 

“What do you think a satyr is?” I asked Eric. He came to stand beside me, hand in his pocket absently jangling some loose change within. 

“It’s a woodland god. Think Pan – horns, cloven feet, animal ears and the like.” 

“She said it’s no god. So what? A demon?” I laughed, trying to come across disbelieving but shooting closer to hysterical. Eric had no answer to that. 

“That’s what she called you last time, right? Susannah Still Alive?” 

I nodded, turning my head to look at him. He waited until an attendant walked past us, pushing a tea and coffee down the corridor and around a corner. 

“It’s a song. It rang a bell the first time you told me but I remembered it when she said it in there. It’s a Kinks song, I think.” 

I chewed on that piece of information for a second. I’d look up the song on my phone later. It was probably just a convenient nickname for her. 

“How reliable do you think her testimony is on a scale of one to ten?” I asked. 

“Well, I’m inclined to think she’s bat-shit crazy regardless of the score, but I’d say somewhere around five.” 

I dropped my head back against the wall and took a moment to close my eyes. If she was spouting off rubbish to us, she sure seemed to know what to say to play into my fears. I felt a mix of fear and foreboding, but at the core of it all was disappointment. I was still no closer to understanding what the heck was happening. Dot was a possible red herring, a random distraction pointing my nose in the wrong direction. Eric let me have my moment uninterrupted and over the sounds of everyday life at the home I heard a familiar timbre of voice from nearby. I retrieved my keys from my purse and handed them to Eric. 

“Go warm up the car. It’s your turn to drive. I’ll be out in a minute.” I was tempted to add a saccharin 'sweetie' to end of my request, but maybe I was better off saving that jibe for when I’d be likely to get a chuckle out of him. Speaking with Dot left the both of us feeling weird.

We parted ways and I followed the direction I’d heard the voice come from. I found Glenda a few doors down and around the corner from where Eric and I had been standing. Her room was small but tidy, a double bed, bedside table, recliner, and wall mounted television comprising the majority of the furniture. The room's style toed the line between hospital and home, although not very well, it was a little too clinical. 

“Knock, knock,” I said, standing in the doorway. Glenda was sitting in the faux leather recliner, open magazine resting in her lap and looking up at the television. She had a cup of tea beside her, steam curling up from the mug. Her expression was equal parts hopeful and terrified as she noticed me.

“Has the Sheriff discovered something?” 

“No, sorry. I was actually here just visiting with a resident. I heard your voice and thought I’d say hello.” 

“Well, then. Thank you and hello,” she nodded, her expression falling neutral again as she looked back up at the television. 

I took a few steps in and looked around her room. It didn’t really need to be so clinical looking. It was devoid of any personal touches, save for a vase of fake daisies on the small table beside her and a framed photo of Jade on her bedside table. 

My thoughts had returned to Glenda a number of times after meeting her. It wasn’t pity that I felt for her exactly, maybe more of a kinship. Grief is isolating, if only internally, especially when you lose one of the only people in your life. Glenda cloistered herself away in the retirement home the way I threw myself into my work. At least that’s how it seemed to me. 

“Will you be joining the Christmas festivities here at home this year?” I asked. “I have it on good authority there will be terrible music and eggnog.” 

She snorted and shifted in her seat to better face me. She looked younger than she did the day Tara interviewed her. I attributed it to the subject matter, although her casual grey hoodie and black yoga pants was a younger look than the floral dress she had worn. 

“I don’t normally join in, but it’s interesting to see the residents get tanked. It doesn’t take the old farts too much. They’re friskier than you’d expect.” 

I pulled a face before I realized I’d even done it and it earned a genuine smile from Glenda. 

“What do they do for Christmas day?” I found myself asking as she motioned for me to sit on her bed. I perched on the edge of the maroon quilted bed.

“There’s a not-so-great meal served, it gets quiet with people out on day visits, some visitors tend to trickle through in the afternoon.” She shrugged, it was a jerky movement. 

“If you’d like a visitor, I can come by in the afternoon, bring something home cooked?” 

“I’m not in need of your pity, Susannah.” Her face closed down, eyes glazing. She gripped the television remote tightly in her hand. 

“I’m not offering it. And you can call me Sookie.” 

“Then why ask? We’re not friends.” Ouch. 

“I realize that. I also know what it’s like to sit alone on Christmas. It’s not so much sad, but hard. A hard day, in a series of many hard days, you just want to get through. I thought maybe we could get through it together for a couple of hours. Eat something, even watch the residents get feisty if we need a laugh.” The words hung in the air. I wasn’t sure if it was enough or too much. 

I was overstepping my mark, but on some level, it was for me not her. I didn’t have anyone to spend Christmas with, I didn’t know what Eric’s plans were but I was willing to bet he was flying out for the holiday. Tara and J.B. were busy doing the family thing with their respective in-laws… And with anyone else I’d feel like an imposition. 

I’d considered taking up Jason and Crystal’s invite to join them back in Bon Temps, but it seemed a little counter intuitive since I’d only just left the state to get some clarity around my mental well-being. The thought of sitting in the cabin all alone at Christmas was hugely unappealing, not even taking recent events into account. 

“Who have you lost?” she asked, after letting the awkward silence drag on to the point of painful. She hadn’t been deciding whether to take me up on my offer, I think she was sizing me up. 

“I only have my brother, his wife and their two kids left. They live in Louisiana.” I absently toyed with my ring finger, where my wedding ring once sat. Her eyes followed the movements and I abruptly stopped. 

“Okay,” she agreed, not looking pleased but not looking put upon either. “Come and visit. I won’t refuse some decent home cooking.”

We agreed on a time and we parted ways, not exactly chummy, but both of us satisfied with the plans we’d made.

Eric was sitting in the driver’s seat, and I was absorbed in my phone as I hopped into the passenger seat beside him. 

“Oh boy, this is just depressing,” I said referring to the lyrics I’d looked up. 

_Oh, Susannah's bedraggled_  
But she still wears the locket 'round her neck  
She's got a picture on the table  
Of a man who is young and able  
Oh, Susannah's gonna cry  
Oh, Susannah's still alive  
Whiskey or gin, that's alright  
There's nothing in her bed at night  
She sleeps with the covers down  
Hoping that somebody gets in  
Doesn't matter what she does  
She knows that she can't win  
Oh, Susannah's gonna cry 

I stopped reading after the third verse and handed the phone to Eric who scanned the words briefly. He was right, the song was by The Kinks. 

“It’s about a soldier’s wife,” he said, passing the phone back to me.

“Sentiment still applies, though.” I wrinkled my nose in distaste. I wanted it to be insignificant, that she’d just heard my name and made the connection. It did make me wonder how an eighty-odd-year-old woman even knew a Kinks song. Although, it was from nearly fifty years ago. I could imagine Dot being hip enough back in the day to be into English rock. 

“Was this your husband’s car?” Eric asked and I switched off the phone screen to stare across at him. His expression was unreadable. A little conflicted or uncomfortable, maybe.

“Uh, yeah. It’s mine now.” Obvious answer. But the difference was I now thought of it as mine. 

He jangled the keys from their position in the ignition. Oh. He’d seen the gold wedding bands I’d looped onto the carabiner key chain. I kept my engagement ring in my jewelry box at the cabin with my other valuable jewelry, but I’d put our wedding rings on the keyring once I was ready to stop wearing mine. That way it would be with me, but not. Made sense since it was his car and all. I considered it an emotional step up from wearing them on a chain around my neck. 

“Were you happy to be married?” he asked, his eyes searching mine.

I considered my response, how best to word it, before nodding. 

“Very much,” I said, “It wasn’t always easy, and I regret I didn’t work harder at it, but I would do it all again, even if the result was the same.” 

Eric nodded slowly, seeming lost in thought as his fingers absently rattled the keys. 

“Did you want me to drive?” I asked, feeling a sweep of shame as I considered things from his perspective. Driving the widow he’d kissed in the car once owned by her dead husband. All after being told we wouldn’t work because I was being stalked, haunted, followed – take your pick – by something otherworldly. 

“No, it’s okay.” He moved the stick into reverse and backed out of the space while I began directing him back to the main strip in Chester where Treasure Trove was located. 

“I understand if this is too weird for you. I hadn’t really thought about it from your perspective… I mean this whole situation is weird and add my past and you, with your work here. I mean, you could be at home right now working on your novel and I’m dragging you away. You really don’t have to drive the car. I just didn’t think.” 

“Sookie.” He cut off my ramblings with an exasperated laugh. “It’s fine, really. I wouldn’t be here unless I wanted to be.” 

I folded my hands into my lap, chagrined. It was all unexplored territory for me. I hardly knew how to be around myself, let alone around a… Well, what was he? A prospective suitor? My sweetie? 

“You have a past. I have a past. At our age it would be strange if we didn’t,” he said. “Meeting you here; both of us are away from our regular lives. It shouldn’t, but it feels unexpected to be confronted with the reality of it. Like we’re in a parallel universe here at the lake, and the real world exists out there while we do our own thing here unaffected.”

“I get that, although I can’t say it feels the same for me,” I said, turning in the seat to face him better. “That’s the reason why I’m here, after all. To detach from my life out there and give myself a chance to deal with things properly. Find myself again.” 

“I don’t want to get in the way of your purpose for coming here.” He chanced a quick glance at me before looking back to the road. Not a shred of the cocky, self-assured Eric was currently present. It was unnerving. 

“You’re not. I moved to get into a better headspace, start living properly again. Meeting you has helped with that. Not so much the… other stuff that’s been happening.” 

Our conversation fell silent and I took the chance to enjoy viewing him in profile. The bridge of his nose rose and dipped slightly in a pleasing and deliberate way, sort of like a Greek sculpture. I resisted the urge to pull him in for a kiss. Not safe, Sookie. He’s driving. 

“The other day,” I said, “When you told me you liked me. I was so rude to you. I’m sorry. I clearly like you too, in case you couldn’t tell.” 

“I know." He grinned. "No apology necessary. I rushed you when there isn’t any rush. I felt like shit for making you feel like I was forcing something between us.” He cleared his throat as he shifted gears. “Though... My ego may have taken a hit when you didn’t leap straight into my arms.” 

I let the shock show on my face and I laughed. One of those deep, invigorating belly laughs. His behavior after that night made sense.

“You had it all planned out, huh?” I teased when I caught my breath. “I bet you plotted out exactly how it would go in your head too, Mr. Author. Sweep me off my feet while I gratefully submit to you.” I poked him in the ribs until he begrudgingly began to chuckle too. 

When he pulled on the parking brake after finding a space along Main Street, I pulled his head down to mine for the searing kiss I’d wanted to lay on him earlier. I broke away before we got too hot and heavy. We did have a purpose for coming here after all and it didn’t involve misting up the car windows. Unfortunate as that was.


	13. Beyond Good and Evil

The brass bell rang as we walked into Treasure Trove, though the counter was empty. Eric was momentarily fixated by the enormous oak shelves all stuffed with books but I tugged on his arm gently, telling him we had time to browse once we talked to Octavia. We found Phillip busily shifting furniture out the back when I lead Eric through the store. 

“Hello again,” he smiled straightening to his feet. “Are you after Octavia?” 

Octavia emerged as if summoned and greeted me with a broad smile. Her bohemian clothes matched the bright orange African style beaded necklace around her neck and a delicate anklet jangled as she walked. She embraced me, smelling warm and earthy like the last time. 

“Why, hello again. I’d say I’m pleased to see you but given how soon it is, I’m not sure if that’s the right response.” 

Octavia led us through a side door near the book section and up a narrow set of stairs. It was a small residence, although it didn’t look like they lived in it. The Federation style apartment was chock full of furniture and antique pieces and dozens upon dozens of boxes of unknown items. 

“Phillip and I have a bit of a shopping addiction,” she explained. “We cruise the estate sales and garage sales across the state every weekend.” We sat around a small vintage chrome and ivory dinette in the kitchen. “Luckily we can fill this place up, our actual home is on the other side of town.” 

While she made a large pot of tea for us to share, I formally introduced myself and Eric and thanked her for the smudge stick. Without much prompting I found myself telling her of all the occurrences I'd had since arriving at my Lake Douglas cabin while she listened quietly. She took my hands between hers part way through the tale, and while odd, it was comforting. She seemed to radiate warmth and goodness. 

“Do you think the old woman, Dot, is actually speaking the truth?” I asked Octavia. 

“It’s probably the dementia talking,” Eric piped up, speaking for the first time. I frowned at him, he had been less skeptical half an hour ago. Judging by his expression now, he didn’t seem to put much credence towards whatever Octavia had going on. Her whole spiritual, witchy vibe. Truthfully, she was stereotypical, right down to the tiny tree of life medallion earrings hanging from her lobes. 

“I think it’s hard to discount what she’s been saying, wouldn’t you agree?” Her gaze traveled from Eric across to me. “Perhaps the veil has lifted for her now her mind has been affected in old age.” She asked to see Eric’s notes, which he produced from inside his jacket pocket. She spent a few minutes carefully reading through them. It looked like they had been added to since he’d first written them; there were multiple pages now.

“Now, Sookie. I want you to focus on how you feel when its presence is near.”

“Okay…” I said, though I screwed up my face a little. Maybe this was a little too hippy-drippy for my tastes.

“Go on," she encouraged. "This will help. Lean back in your seat and close your eyes. Tell me how you felt last night when you knew it was watching you from the trees.” 

I did as she suggested and sighed, thinking back to the previous night. I spent a quiet moment sorting through my emotions, cataloging and compartmentalizing them. I was an old hand at this, although I generally stuffed them away rather than talked about them. 

“Scared. Terrified. Confused. And this sense of … inevitability. That’s more difficult to describe. It's like something is tugging within me.” 

“Physically or emotionally?” 

“Well... Not physically.” 

“Anything else?” 

“Curiosity. A morbid curiosity, though, not the innocent kind. Voyeuristic, I guess you could call it.” A frisson of disgust moved through me and Octavia patted my hand reassuringly.

“What else, hon? 

“Um…I also feel fear. A lot of it. It’s paralyzing. It prevents me from doing what I want to.” 

“What do you want to do?” 

I thought back to aiming the shotgun at the sliding door to my balcony, waiting to shoot. That wasn’t quite the answer though. I opened my eyes and was caught in her stare, her caramel eyes were focused and searching. 

“I want to see it," I said quietly. "I want to see it properly. Find out what it wants from me.” I didn’t know it until I said it, but I was sure now. She nodded, smiling in a satisfied way. She drank the last mouthful from her cup and stood, smoothing her peasant skirt downwards. 

“Follow me.” 

Eric and I trailed after her down a hallway towards the back of the apartment. 

“That was heavy,” Eric whispered, his breath tickling my ear. I hugged my arms to my body, no response seeming adequate. I was still lost in the eddy of revelation and feelings. 

Octavia opened the door the room at the end of the hall and stood to the side allowing us entry. The room was clearly intended to be the master bedroom, it was light and bright with a large bay window at the end that looked out onto a garden plot at the back of the store. Instead of bedroom furniture, the room was lined with large shelves filled with books and old tomes, crystals, candles, bundles of dried herbs and jars filled with all manner of items; hair, pebbles, animal bones, and leaves. A large altar was set up at the end.

“Are you a witch?” Eric asked flatly and unabashed. 

“Eric,” I hissed. It seemed the height of rudeness. Like asking a stranger about their political leanings or how much money they earned. Octavia chuckled low and throatily. 

“Wiccan,” she said. “It’s an earth based religion. I have a sensitivity to the spiritual world outside of that, though.” She gestured around her room. “This place is the equivalent of a temple or church for me. I pray, study, practice my religion here.”

Eric moved to the shelves to examine the books while I stepped closer to the altar. The small dais was covered in crushed indigo velvet with a large brass bowl and ornate blade sitting atop it. A variety of semi-precious gems were scattered around. 

“If you wish to touch the books, there are some cotton gloves on the far shelf for you to wear. Some are very old and single prints or first editions,” Octavia said firmly to Eric, who was perusing the titles with the tip of his finger. He moved his raised hand away from the shelf. Octavia donned some gloves of her own and climbed a step stool to withdraw a large tome from a high shelf. It was vellum bound, old and tan. She placed it on the pedestal and opened it carefully, turning each page across gingerly. 

“Your enemy, your enemy…” she muttered. 

“That phrase has significance?” Eric asked. 

“I wonder…" she muttered to herself. "What if she wasn’t saying ‘your enemy’? But if she was saying its name. Eurynome is an ancient Greek goddess,” she said, not lifting her gaze from the book. “But if I recall correctly, the name is attributed to others…” She trailed off and kept turning pages. I stood beside her looking at the book. It was old as dirt, written in the distinct scratchy scrawl of a nib dipped in ink. I could barely make out the words, they were written in old English and cursive. She turned the page, her index finger hovering as she continued down. This page included a crude ink drawing of an ancient griffin-type beast, horns curled, and a naked hawk-nosed man atop its back.

“What book is this?” I asked from over her shoulder. 

“A grimoire. This one is a compendium of invocations and creatures. I own many grimoires and occult books, but this one has a focus on dark magic and demonic spirits.” She said it so casually like it could be found in any old library. It was a few more pages before she found what she was looking for. 

“Eurynomos. Here we go,” she said. “Does this look like your stalker?” 

The picture showed a crouching demon with caricaturish features. A long hooked nose, round eyes, and grinning leer. It wore a fox skin across its back and held up its long claws as if ready to pounce. 

"I don’t know. Maybe? This drawing looks a little… childish. The fox skin could be something though. Could explain what I saw on its head. What does it say?” 

“Eurynomos,” she began. “Let me paraphrase here, the language isn’t very clear. Known as the keeper of the graves, Babael, or Eurynome. A demon belonging to the high order, the prince of death. It feeds off rotting corpses, rumored to have grown a second mouth in order to glut itself. Blackened skin filled with sores, long teeth, wears a fox skin cape and hood. He never speaks, will only move to travel to its next feast or lick its lips in anticipation.” 

She kept speaking as my jaw dropped further and further. I staggered backward as the rising ringing in my ears obscured her words and a filter of static filled my vision. 

“Excuse me,” I choked out. I pushed past Eric who was saying something and I fled the room, nearly tripping as I moved quickly down the stairs and past a confused Phillip. I found the door to the back garden and wrenched it open, managing to make my way out onto a stone path. 

I gasped in lungfuls of cold air and crouched down with my head between my knees, balancing forward on my fingertips. Lord save me. What. The. Hell. A demon of death was stalking me. Why? To eat me? Oh, God. I struggled to catch my breath. What hope did I stand?

Minutes passed with panic rattling and escalating like a giant rubber ball bouncing inside of me. I picked a random number in the 1000s and began counting backwards by nine. Another anxiety and anger coping trick à la Dr. Ludwig. Feeling slowly returned to my fingers, my other senses eventually yielding too. 

When I looked up, I found Phillip standing a few feet to my side, hands clasped behind his back in a neutral manner. 

“I told them to give you a few minutes,” he said, nodding to the back door once I noticed him. I’d left it open in my haste but it was shut now. He offered me his hand, drawing me to my feet. We walked further down the cobbled, moss-lined path and sat on a small garden bench. It was dewy, I realized as the damp began seeping into my jeans. Phillip didn’t seem to care. 

He sat with me quietly as minutes slipped past. I stared into the garden. It was overgrown, very overgrown, but held charm. Spindly and bare fruit trees, long grasses, a mildewed and mossy fountain at its center filled with murky water and lily pads. It wouldn’t take much to restore the plot to its former cottage garden glory. 

“You’ll have to forgive Octavia,” he said, pocketing his reading glasses, being careful to not look at me. “She is so entrenched in her beliefs she doesn’t realize that for others it could be a distressing revelation.”

“I’m a Christian. But I wonder how much of a Christian I am if I’m struggling to cope with this. I’m familiar with the Old Testament. I ought to know there is more to this world and my faith than just my personal relationship with God.” 

A chickadee landed on the larger of the fruit trees and hopped along the branch, chirping and shaking off droplets of dew from the bough. Its friend landed a few branches above and they began to call back and forth. 

“I have my beliefs,” Phillip said carefully, eyeing the birds. “But I wouldn’t call myself a religious man. Living with Octavia has certainly opened my eyes to the world and to myself.” 

“To yourself?” 

“Well, yes. Octavia says for most folk the shroud between living and dead is opaque but for me, it's less so.” 

I blinked, trying to grasp the meaning. “You see ghosts?” 

“I wouldn’t say that. I get a strong sense of history in places, people… Mostly the things I find during our shopping trips.” 

“Your spidey sense tingles?” I joked hollowly.

“I haven’t heard it put like that before.” He chuckled, his face breaking from its usual mask of composure. “It’s ghosts you’re having trouble with?” 

“If only,” I sighed. 

“Ah. I’m surprised then. You’ve experienced a lot of loss in your lifetime.” We looked at each other then and I got the feeling what he was saying about his ‘strong sense’ was true. 

“Enough loss for your sixth sense to probably see a giant neon sign flashing above my head saying as much,” I finally said, my voice taking on a bitter edge. 

“Dying is an eventuality. Living is a choice.”

“Did you read that in one of your books?” 

“No. I read it in a fortune cookie last week,” he said smoothly and then winked straight-faced at me. I smiled. I appreciated Phillip’s calm and unflustered nature. I found him easy company, even now during periods of silence. We sat out in the sun for a few minutes longer before I felt calm enough to return indoors. Eric was pacing by the back door when Phillip let me in. He didn’t look happy. 

“Sorry,” I said. “Just needed a minute.” 

“It’s fine. There is no rush,” he smiled tightly, and I wondered if he was referencing our earlier conversation. “Octavia is gathering some things for you to take home.” 

Phillip nodded and continued past us towards the front door where he removed a handwritten ‘Back in 5 minutes’ sign off the glass. I took Eric’s hand in mine and we followed him before veering off to the book section. 

“Are you okay?” Eric asked, pulling me behind a shelf to embrace me. 

“I think so. Phillip is nice.” I breathed in Eric's clean scent, pressing my cheek against his chest. 

“I don’t like her much,” he whispered. “For how spiritual she claims to be she’s incredibly unaware.” 

“I don’t know about that. She was particularly astute yesterday. And her smudge stick might've been the difference between me being safe behind a locked door last night and…” I couldn’t bring myself to think about the alternative, let alone finish the sentence. Eric pressed his lips against the crown of my head and squeezed me a little tighter. 

“Do you think this has anything to do with those missing girls?” I asked. “Maybe this is the reason they went missing…” It was awful to consider. There would be no resolution if that were the case. How could anyone credibly believe such a thing? 'Demon' was not an acceptable cause of death. 

“I had the same thought,” he said quietly. “She said no. A very resolute no. She said it’s a bottom-feeder. A scavenger. It wouldn’t snatch and kill girls. She doesn’t think it wants to kill you either.” 

“Then what does it want?” 

Eric didn’t respond. It seemed there was no satisfactory answer to that question.

Octavia didn’t have much for us. A box of iron nails she’d procured from the garden shed. She instructed me to nail three above each entrance in the house, including the fireplace and cautioned me to use the smudge stick again. 

“Is there no kind of exorcism or ritual to get it to go back to where it came from?” I asked. 

“If it is Eurynome, then it will be difficult to magick anything that will be truly effective. Banishment rituals are fine against spirits from lesser orders, but again, even that’s tricky if he isn’t within your home. I will consult online and see if there’s something I can do to ward the property.” 

Octavia was clearly out of her depth. Her eyes held a little twinkle of excitement, though, which pissed me off. She was excited to flex her Wiccan wings while I was now terrified of being some hell spawn’s next meal. I couldn’t confidently trust her judgment, but still… I had to admit that she was sincere in her offers to help. I got the sense she meant well and wanted to do good. That, I hoped, was the important thing. 

I’d lost my appetite for lunch so we headed home. Before last night’s antics, I’d intended to go back to the station and keep working on organizing the cases for Tara, but my energy was flagging and frankly, I had no mental resources to do anything that resembled useful work. I called Tara and told her I wasn’t feeling well and that I’d come by first thing Monday to help out.

When we got back to the cabin, Eric took Bonnie on the lead back to his place to pack some things. Bonnie looked almost regular sized walking alongside Eric's tall form, which was saying a lot. Scottish Deerhounds were one of the biggest breeds out there. While they were gone, I fussed over the fire and started the task of hammering three iron nails into the header above each entrance to the house. I also did each window that opened, for good measure. After smoking out the house with the smudge stick, I collapsed on top of my bed, not bothered to retrieve my blanket that was still downstairs on the couch. The roaring fire was pumping heat upstairs nicely so it wasn’t needed. 

I compared what Octavia had told me about the… thing (I wasn’t ready to call it a demon, just yet or ever) to the feelings she helped me identify. Aside from the healthy dose of fear, there was also a lure that I couldn’t deny. It was terrible and flew in the face of any inherent survival instincts. I realized that with some degree of rationality, at least. Maybe it held some sort of thrall over me? If it really was what Octavia described, a literal corpse eater, then it was the only logical conclusion I could accept to explain that feeling. 

Cheese and rice, the whole thing still was so preposterous. I was still struggling to wrap my head around the situation. 

I drifted off to a dreamless sleep and woke sometime later, the late afternoon light warming the bed. There was a heavy weight behind me. Eric. His form was pressed against mine, his steady breath soft against my neck. I rolled over to face him. I studied him in the light uninterrupted. His face was slack and peaceful. The faint lines across his forehead and at the corners of his eyes were shallow and marked paths like little rivers on a map, intimating a history I was still yet to learn. 

His interest in me was puzzling. He was so out of my league it wasn’t funny. It was my history and mental state that put me at a disadvantage. Was it convenience? I had to be only single, female neighbor in the vicinity. But…I didn’t think that was it. He clearly had offers from gorgeous women and taken up on them too. Not that my self-esteem was lacking. I knew I was attractive... but I was a down home kind of beauty. Claudine was like Kate Beckinsdale incarnate, for cripes’ sake. She was slender and fair, in the Snow White sense, and took great care of her appearance. I don’t think she ever let a hair fly out of place. Eric had seen me unkempt and disheveled more than he’d seen me put together. Gosh, I’d hardly worn make up around him too. I wondered what it was about me that had drawn him. The answer occurred to me with a start.

I was his muse. 

I helped him write, so of course, his attraction to me was natural. Wasn’t that the way of things? The artist always took up with the muse. I didn’t think I minded. He was very accepting and patient with my history, after all. I would go back to Shreveport eventually and he had only a couple months left at his rental and to complete his novel. It was a low-risk interlude for both of us. I didn’t put any stock in Dot’s warning about our newfound friendship. 

Either way, I was simply happy to have the spark of romantic feelings kindle inside me. I never thought much of moving on after my marriage. I considered it an eventual-maybe, it was likely I would have met someone down the track, but I could’ve handled the prospect of perpetual singledom for a while longer. 

I must have dozed off. I roused again when I felt Eric’s fingers brush down along my cheekbone. It was a tender gesture. 

“Hello,” he said, his voice low and gravelly with sleep. 

“Fancy meeting you here.” I opened my eyes.

“Pure luck.” He smirked.

He brushed his lips against mine, settling his arm over my waist. His warm hand traveled slowly upward to caress the nape of my neck. I lost myself to his tentative, sleepy kiss, my tongue skimming lightly across his bottom lip and probing gently deeper. I closed the gap between us, slinging my leg up over his thigh and pulling his shoulder closer to me. 

We continued kissing lazily, keeping it PG rated for far longer than I ever had since high school. Eric murmured appreciatively in my mouth and his hand moved again, spanning the bare skin of my back from under my t-shirt. It felt almost lurid when his fingers slipped under the back of my bra-strap. Shivers of pleasure raced through me. He was working me over so effortlessly without being the least bit untoward. I rolled my hips against him and he groaned against my mouth, his hard length pressing on my hip. Holy sugar, honey, ice, tea – the man was packing heat. 

He broke away and to look at me, his eyes nebulous and lustful. I grinned and pecked at his bottom lip. My effect on him was like pure unadulterated feminine empowerment. Who knew only getting to first base could be so satisfying?

“I’m going to make you dinner tonight,” he said, after kissing me a final time. “But I think you might enjoy helping me?” 

“If it’s anything like this, then yes.” I ran my hand through the back of his hair and brought his face back to mine to let him keep kissing me. 

Once we made it downstairs, Eric set up his things around the island bench, Bonnie watching doubtfully from her spot by the living room fire. Likely checking to see if whatever we were making was worth the effort of her getting up. Eric looked comfortably at home: barefoot, jeans, t-shirt, his hair mussed and sexy. He pulled ingredients from a grocery bag he’d brought with him and lastly withdrew a large metal pasta roller. 

He set to work, preparing the dough and kneading. I sat on a bar stool, watching his forearm muscles ripple and coil from effort as he tamped, hit, and pulled the dough into submission. It was hot as hell. 

Making fresh pasta was new for me and, as it turned out, unexpectedly fun. We laughed and chatted amiably as he helped me roll long sheets of fresh dough. He then showed me how to fold it back over and dust the sticky areas with flour, only to then roll it back through again and again. We cut thick noodles from the flat sheets and lay them on damp tea towels to prevent it drying out. The kitchen was a mess like a flour bomb had exploded but I was excited with our creation. 

I sat back down at the bench, nursing a glass of wine, as Eric went on and cooked a simple pasta dish pairing the noodles with olive oil, garlic, and fresh red chilies. He served it with a side of steamed greens. We moved to the couch to eat, music spinning on the record player. I nearly died when I took the first bite. 

Eric watched me with barefaced excitement waiting for the verdict. 

“So. Good.” There is no way to eat noodles elegantly, but I managed to restrain myself from wolfing it down in front of him. The oil coated my lips, the chili leaving them warm and tingly. “So darn good.” 

He grinned so broadly, like a child receiving praise for a school project. Well. This was definitely gold star sticker worthy. 

We put on a movie after dinner, something lighthearted to match the evening’s theme and I curled into him on the couch, my head tucked against his chest. After, Eric took Bonnie to the front garden to quickly do her business while I unpacked some clean linen to make up the spare bed. 

He found me standing at the door to the second bedroom. 

“Everything okay?” 

“This room is icy and needs a good airing. I haven’t really been in here since arriving.” 

“That’s fine. It doesn’t seem too bad to me.” He moved to take the sheets from my arms.

“You can sleep with me if you like.” 

He stilled, raising his brow at me. I wanted to poke the corner of his lips that gave away the leer he was holding back. 

“Don't get any ideas - just sleep,” I said. “At least if anything happens then you’ll be close.” 

“Oh, believe me. If anything happens it will _because_ I’m close.” 

I laughed at his cheek. He took the sheets and deposited them on the bed, snapping off the light as he shut the door behind him. 

I dressed into my pajamas in my en-suite, a set of matching long sleeve cloud-print flannel PJs, and pulled my hair back into a pony tail. I went through the list of my nightly rituals – brushing my teeth, flossing, washing and moisturizing my face and then gave Eric free reign of the bathroom. He whistled low as he walked in the bathroom and patted his hand appreciatively on the deep tub with its outlook onto the lake. 

“You designed this room?” he asked.

“Yeah. When I planned the remodel for the whole house I actually started with the idea for this bathroom first and worked backward from there.” 

“I’m looking forward to trying this bath. I’m a sucker for a deep bath.” 

“You know what they say about counting chickens, Eric,” I teased, leaving him to do what he needed. He winked at me when he pulled the door shut. 

I peeked through the curtains to outside, relieved to see the balcony was clear and undisturbed. I pulled the drapes fully open exposing the sliding doors and took in the view. Clouds were rolling past like slow-moving sentinels, exposing patches of evening sky and moonlight. A deep feeling of foreboding and anticipation settled over me. This was the feeling I struggled to describe to Octavia. My fingers gripped tightly on the edge of the drapes. It was out there. Waiting. I couldn’t see it, but I felt the truth of it deep in my bones. 

I jumped when Eric touched my elbow. I didn’t notice his arrival. 

“Did you see something?” he asked.

“Turn off the light.” 

He did as I asked and returned to my side in the dark. A minute passed while I scanned the trees, waiting for my night vision to improve. Eric and I had successfully avoided all difficult topics of conversation since leaving Chester. There was little to be said after leaving Treasure Trove. Realistically, what could I do to prevent anything from happening? The ‘expert’ helping us was no expert in this at all. Who was? This was hardly a common dilemma for most people. I was on my own with this one. 

“There,” I said, pressing my fingertip against the glass. Eric leaned forward squinting. “Can you see it?” 

My breathing shallowed as I stared out to the trees. It was hunched on a branch, fifty or so yards from the house, almost imperceptible against the dark boughs of pine surrounding it. It stood out to me clearly though. Unnatural, hulky, and bony; its form was now becoming recognizable. It was too unnatural to be one of God’s creatures. An aberration that stuck out like a sore thumb against the forested landscape. 

I turned to Eric wondering if he could see it. He cupped his eyes over the glass and I held my breath. Maybe it was only in my head? Insanity scared me so much initially, but now… Now it was a welcome alternative. I could cope and deal with hallucinations and a mental condition. There were experts, medications. Help was readily available. 

“Javla helveta,” he breathed. “I see it.” 

I bit down hard on my bottom lip and gently moved Eric back a step so I could shut the drapes. 

“Where is your gun?” he asked. “Should we call the witch?” 

I brought the gun down from the top shelf of my closet and set it under the bed within my reach. I moved the box of slugs to my bedside drawer. I wouldn’t load the weapon just yet. If my theory was correct then I wouldn’t need to use my gun tonight. 

“No,” I said, turning down the covers. “I think I’d like to see what it decides to do first. It disappeared as soon as you arrived last night. My theory is that it will stay away while you’re here.” 

I got into bed and Eric remained standing and uncertain in the dark, not having moved from his position by the balcony door. 

“You’re just going to sleep with that thing out there?” 

“Well, what would you suggest?” 

He peeped through the curtains again not replying. No, I didn’t think he’d have a better suggestion. He relented and climbed in next to me leaving a safe gap in the bed between us. I fussed with the blankets making sure the quilt was pulled up over both our shoulders. 

“I don’t know what you should do,” he said eventually.

“Me either. And I can’t stand it.” I exhaled heavily. I was Sookie, forever the girl with a plan. Floundering was not a personality trait of mine, but it seemed all I was capable of at the moment. 

“Why do you think it’s watching you?” he whispered. His hand snaked out under the covers and he looped his fingers through mine. 

“Maybe it wants the recipe for my Gran's famous upside down peach cake? I’m the last remaining person who knows it. Or maybe it’s dying to get in and try my new tub too.” It was my lame attempt at trying to lighten to the mood. In the dark, I saw the white of Eric’s teeth flash as he smiled at me in the dark. 

“Oh no. I’m sure it didn’t like the way you sassed me on the driveway when we first met. He’s probably just got my back. Making sure you don’t yell at me again.”

“Is that it, is it? You’re both just rallying against a common foe? He’s extending the favor to a brother in arms?” 

Eric chuckled and I poked him in the ribs in mock indignation when he didn’t let up. He jerked and gasped in a breath and I descended on him with both hands tickling, thrilled to have discovered a weakness. 

“Mercy! Mercy!” he cried, trying to defend his sides between his quaking laughs. I eased up, but the devious ass took the opportunity to launch his own assault, trying to lock me in place with his legs so he could noogie my hair. We tumbled around laughing and getting tangled in the blankets until I managed to free myself. He was on top, but I grabbed hold of his wrists and held them out of the way. Growing up with an older brother gives you a certain edge when it comes to wrestling matches. Small, short laughs bubbled up between us every few moments as we tried to catch our breath. 

“I won that round and your demonic back up hasn’t arrived, so I think your theory is hogwash.” I dropped his wrists and his hands plopped onto the bed. 

I moved to rearrange the blankets but he pulled me into his arms. He fixed the blankets with one arm, while I got comfortable in the crook where his chest met his shoulder. He molded himself against me when finished, threading his foot between my calves, arm loosely cradling my waist. 

“Just sleep,” I muffled into his chest. While I said it with certainty, I didn’t think I’d have the resolve to stop anything if he tried it. I knew I wanted to try move slowly with Eric, but a girl can only resist Adonis for so long. 

“Just cuddling,” he affirmed, his nose buried in the hair on top of my hair. 

It was a good feeling being wrapped in the arms of another after being so used to sleeping alone. The darkness felt like it was safely enveloping us, rather than expansive. His presence was comforting and new. 

Eric’s dimensions and proportions seemed so different to Alcide. Eric’s leanness and length made him feel all arms and legs under the covers, despite his abundance of muscles. Alcide was like sleeping next to a boulder. A big hot boulder. Literally. I swore he ran a degree or two hotter than me, great for colder nights, but anything over 65 and he was kicking off blankets complaining. I was comparing, I realized with a guilty pang. But surely it was expected on some level? I was so used to one man, it was natural to notice the differences in another. 

“I haven’t been with anyone since Alcide,” I said, the darkness feeling easy to confess to. 

“Is this hard for you?” 

“Not as much as you’d think. The, um, extenuating circumstances have been good for putting personal difficulties into perspective.” 

“I bet. You know you can–“

The deafening crack of a snapping branch outside brought the conversation to an abrupt halt. We tensed against one another, listening, straining, waiting for more. Beside my ear, Eric’s heart kicked up in speed before gradually slowing again. Nothing further happened. Minutes crept by, neither of us able to speak. 

Eventually, after what felt like hours but in reality probably much less, Eric’s breathing slowed and evened out into the distinct rhythm of sleep. It was soon followed by the soft padding of Bonnie’s paws and tinkle of her collar as she loped up the stairs and settled onto the doggy bed. 

I waited until the urge was unbearable. Until I was sure my sleeping companions were 100% out to it. I carefully extricated myself from Eric and sat up. I loaded the slugs into the shotgun quietly, the clack of their arrival into the magazine and barrel a reassurance. I returned the weapon to its spot under my side of the bed. My theory that it would leave us alone while Eric was here didn’t seem so tight now.

I laid back next to Eric and spooned against him, drawing his arm back around my waist. I waited a long time before I felt the pull of sleep drawing me away. 

When I was a little girl, after Momma and Daddy died, I had troubles sleeping. Insomnia and nightmares, mostly. I recalled Gran’s cool hand stroking my forehead, and her soothing hushed tone as she would whisper to me, trying to settle me to sleep. 

_Give it to God then go to sleep, sweet pea._

I focused on the words, the comfort it used to bring. It all fell short. I can’t give it to God, Gran. I think this is beyond even his help.


	14. Sunday Imbibe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how long it's been between chapters! Life is crazy busy for me right now.  
> This chapter is a two-parter. Next part up within 24 hours.

I woke up feeling like I'd been dragged through the mud. Sleep came in short bursts through the night. My mind would relax, lulled by the sound and feel of Eric sleeping beside me, only to jolt awake, the knowledge of what was outside shooting through me like a bucket of ice-water adrenaline.

I gave up at dawn and rolled quietly out of bed. I showered and dressed in the downstairs bathroom, taking the time to blow dry my hair until it fell around my shoulders straight and silky. I even bothered with a little makeup. It didn't cover the dark pallor of missed sleep under my eyes, but the mascara did make my ash blonde lashes stand out with a pop. The scrape on my chin had all but healed, too.

It was snowing lightly, so I rugged up and took Bonnie outside to relieve herself. I discovered the source of the loud cracking sound from the night before. One of the smaller pine trees had completely snapped at the base and fallen across my yard. The forest that surrounded the cabin was old and huge, so even for a smaller pine, it was still a good twenty-five foot high. It hadn't broken clean off, part of it still attached to its trunk. I stood on the deck, refusing to move further, and gripped the wooden railing, calling Bonnie back in as soon as she'd finished doing what she needed.

Back inside, I realized with a shock that Eric and I had left the kitchen a mess from cooking. That was a huge oversight for me. I didn't think I'd ever been to bed without cleaning up the kitchen first. Eric was a distraction, but, as I happily mused, it was the best kind. By the time I'd finished cleaning up and put on a pot of coffee Eric had emerged from upstairs.

"Morning." He settled onto a kitchen stool, resting his elbows on the granite counter top. His hair was rumpled and poking up at the back. "Sleep well?"

I shrugged and poured him a mug of coffee. I began drying the pots in the dish rack.

"What are your plans for today?" I asked him.

"I have to head down to my place to work for a while today. I have most of my writing stuff there, notes and timelines."

"Oh, is that what that mess of papers were scattered all over your couch?"

"That mess is a highly organized system of novel planning and preparation." He pulled a face pretending to be offended.

"Uh-huh," I said, deliberately lacing my tone with skepticism. "I don't think you know who you're talking to. I am the queen of organization. I put people with OCD to shame."

"I did notice your underwear drawer was organized by color and type." He waggled his brows at me.

"You didn't!" I threw the tea towel at his face. He laughed and threw it back. I snatched it from the air and narrowed my eyes at him. "You're a snoop."

"And you own a lot of small lacy things."

I felt my face heat and I poked my tongue out at him.

"You and Bonnie are most welcome to tag along with me today," he said, changing the subject before I could rip him a new one. "I can't promise I'll be much company though."

"Okay. It's Sunday so the station isn't open. I have nothing on the agenda for today."

"Good." He smiled.

"Good." I smiled back.

After breakfast, we walked through the woods hand in hand, or rather glove in glove, back to his place with Bonnie trotting happily at our side. I brought the shotgun with me. We must've made a funny sight. Eric and I first paused to examine the felled tree and he offered to cut it into logs for me the next day when I went to help Tara at the station. I accepted, cracking a joke about his expertise in tree demolishing. Neither of us speculated on how it fell, but some things were better left unsaid. The rest of the walk was silent and brisk, both of us on high alert.

Eric's place was freezing cold and while he got the fire going I made another a pot of coffee. I needed as much of a caffeine boost as I could get. I was determined not to nap the day away again only to spend another wakeful night listening to every creak and noise in the cabin and outside.

He showed me around his place. It was deceptively big without seeming obscenely huge. There was a large basement built into the hill and contained a rumpus with an assortment of gym equipment and a small nook for the laundry. The top level housed the bedrooms, which were as ultra-modern and minimalist as the living spaces. The master bedroom, Eric's room, faced the lake and was almost entirely filled up by the enormous and contemporary style four poster bed. It was oak with a large white muslin canopy strung like a flat sail across the top and set against a stacked charcoal gray slate feature wall. I grudgingly admitted to myself that Claudine had outdone herself with styling the home.

But the main attraction was the hot tub on the downstairs deck. The decking was terraced, with the tub sitting on the lowest terrace, pretty well obscured from the view of the living area. Eric pulled off the snowy cover and I whooped in excitement when I saw steam rising from underneath. I'd hadn't forgotten his promise of the hot tub, so I'd made sure to stuff my bikini into the pocket of my jacket before leaving for his place.

"Maybe you can wait for me to finish up before getting in?" He pulled me in for a kiss, snow falling around us.

"You make it hard to say no," I grumbled after I pushed him away breathlessly.

I settled on the sectional while Eric crouched by the low bookshelf that served as his television stand. He pored over his small book collection trying to pick something for me.

He was a big fan of the beat generation, he said. Most of the books he brought with him from home were by the few authors who heralded the genre. I'd heard of it, I'd even read _On the Road <> by Jack Kerouac as an undergrad and thoroughly enjoyed it but couldn't remember much about it on a cultural level._

__

__

Bold, expressive literature, born out of the post-WWII stuffiness and the lost generation, Eric explained. It went against many literary norms for the time and marked the early beginnings of the sixties cultural revolution, spearheading sexual liberation, anti-consumerist and anti-government sentiment. Well. It seemed all very Eric to me. He furrowed his brow in consideration before pulling out _Catcher in the Rye_ and handing it over.

"I read that in high school. It's required reading here. It's great, though," I said. He turned back to the books, looking far too serious for the task. I just wanted something to kill some time with.

"Okay, what about _Dharma Bums_?" He handed me another Kerouac novel and I accepted it, trying to hide the indulgent smile that was threatening to show. He was excited to share. It was sweet.

Eric settled on the dining table with his laptop, papers scattered all around him, wearing a small pair of tortoiseshell glasses that were so many kinds of crazy sexy I was debating the need to sit on my hands to stop myself from dragging him up to the hot tub right then and there. He caught me staring a handful of times and simply responded with a dazzling grin. But I was soon pulled into the narrative of my story and barely aware of the backing soundtrack of noisy keyboard strokes coming from Eric's laptop.

Time passed and Eric leaned back in his seat, stretching his clasped hands high above him. When I looked up from my book he announced he was making us lunch. His fridge contained slim pickings, but he managed to pull together the makings for grilled ham, cheese, and tomato sandwiches. He leaned against the kitchen counter beside the stove, flipping the sandwiches with a steel spatula every so often.

I went upstairs to the full-sized bathroom and quickly pulled off my clothes and underthings. I hoped Eric was ready to hop in the tub after eating. I slipped into my bikini before pulling my fitted black jeans and loose mustard colored sweater back over the top. I stuffed my bra and panties into my back pocket, aiming to hide them in my jacket that I'd left back downstairs.

I couldn't wait to sit out there in the tub with the snow falling around us and relax. Okay, yes, maybe fool around a little too. I bit my lip in excitement and shut the bathroom door when I heard the sounds of conversation and female laughter drifting up from the stairway.

I stood on the top step and listened, my stomach sinking in comprehension. Get it together, Sook. Where's that steel magnolia? I walked down the stairs, hoping I was noisy enough that my arrival would be noticed.

Eric looked at me from the stove like a deer caught in headlights, spatula still in hand. Claudine stood in the kitchen, dressed impeccably in a long gray woolen trapeze coat, black leggings and leather over-the-knee riding boots. She was clutching a condensation covered bottle of champagne in one hand and a… A joint? Good grief. What looked like joint in the other.

"Sookie! You're here too! Lovely to see you again." She blew me an air kiss from across the kitchen. "I thought I could tempt the lovely Mr. Northman here away from his hard work with a Sunday afternoon imbibe. You are most welcome to join… There's plenty to go around." She waved the liquor and cigarette. "And let me tell you, that hot tub is plenty big enough for the three of us."

I closed my mouth, realizing I was working on my best imitation of a gaping fish.

"Oh no. Thank you. Really. Don't let me interrupt. I was just heading home." The words came out as soon as the thought formed and even to my ears, sounded like a discordant jumble. Humiliation prickled like hot needles in my chest, moving steadily upwards. I scooped my things from where I'd left them on the kitchen bench and Bonnie was immediately at my heel, sensing my departure.

"Sookie, wait," Eric called.

I jammed my feet into my hiking boots, not bothering to lace them.

"No, no. It's okay." I swung the Benelli over my shoulder. I didn't fail to miss the curious look Claudine measured between me, the gun, and Eric.

"Hold up, just wait." He'd put the spatula down and was moving towards me.

"No, really. It's fine. Y'all enjoy your afternoon. Just give me a call later or something. Good to see you, Claudine. Tell Niall I'd love to catch up sometime soon."

I was outside with the front door shut behind me faster than you could say Jack Robinson. I quickly put some distance between myself and the world's most awkward scene. God, had she arrived expecting a booty call? I directed Bonnie up the driveway, opting to take the open environment over the forest. I half jogged as I pulled my coat on. My phone was buzzing in the front pocket.

Argh! I wanted to scream. I handled that poorly, running away like a humiliated idiot and Claudine… How anyone could look svelte and sexy in a trapeze coat was beyond me, but she achieved it. Was she even wearing anything under it? Probably just a skimpy swim suit. I knew they had slept together. She'd made that abundantly clear when I saw her last. Memories of my final summer as a teen at Lake Douglas and Quinn clouded my thoughts and I ground my teeth in anger.

I tugged my bra and underpants from my back pocket, horror sweeping over me at what they must have thought seeing me flee with my underthings jutting out of my jeans' pocket. Sweet baby Jesus. I shoved them hurriedly into my jacket and focused on keeping up with Bonnie. She was thrilled to be outside and stretching her rangy legs. Once I reached the point where our driveways ran parallel, I crossed through the narrow stand of trees and headed back down to my cabin.

I let myself in and shot the deadbolt. I leaned my forehead against the oak door and bumped it in frustration. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I deposited the shotgun into the closet and flopped onto the couch, not bothering to lose the boots or coat.

"I shouldn't have run away, should I, Bon?" She stood beside me, tongue out and panting. "But he could have said something. Or, you know, sent her packing."

I fished my phone out from my pocket. One missed call and one message.

E: Call me. She's my landlord. I sent her home.

I stared at the screen. Frozen with indecision. The phone vibrated in my hand.

E: Also, why was your bra hanging out of your back pocket?

I pulled Gran's ugly afghan down over my face and groaned in frustration and embarrassment. Mostly embarrassment. Minutes passed and I heard the telltale rumble of a car coming down the drive, followed by rapping at the door.

"Sookie, it's me." Eric's voice was muffled by the door.

I pulled the blanket off me and sat up, drawing a deep breath trying to rouse the last shreds of my dignity.

"I'm sorry," he said when I got the door open. "I made her leave. She always comes over at the worst times."

"She always comes over?" I asked. I didn't pull the door all the way open, instead choosing to keep half my body behind it. Ready to slam if needed. Proceed with caution, Northman.

"No!" he said quickly. "But she likes to catch me by surprise. I can't exactly tell her to get lost. She owns the house."

"Yes, she told me she was renting it to you when I saw her in Chester the other day." I opened the door a whisker wider.

"I can't stand her. She reminds me too much of the New York types I have to socialize with for all publishing and marketing events I'm dragged to. She has this false veneer she keeps up all the time."

"That's for sure. She acts like we're the best of friends. We're really not."

He raked a hand through his hair, gently tugging at it.

"I slept with her once. When I first arrived. I don't know what I was thinking. It was a terrible idea."

"Okay. Although, that's not news to me."

"She told you?" His eyes widened.

"Uh-huh."

"Shit."

"Well…Awkward, more than anything."

We stared at each other. Eric with a large measure of uncertainty and a heaped spoon of remorse; me with apprehension.

"There's a bit of bad blood between me and Claudine," I offered, opening the door and moving my hip around it. Eric didn't say anything so I forged on. "Claudine and her twin brother were part of the group of friends Tara and I used to hang out with when I was here vacationing. Her grandparents and mine were also friends, part of a large social circle who lived and vacationed here regularly back in the old days. So I spent time with them off and on growing up. Her family was - well, still is - rich as Croesus. They own the big resort out on Mt. Rayner and Claudine and Claude would host these huge parties up there when it was closed for the season.

"I had a boyfriend the summer that would be my last here before the cabin sold. It was puppy love, but I was a goner. We were moving slowly in the, uh, physical side of things. I'd never had a serious boyfriend before. Quinn and I had a big date planned and we decided to take it the next step. The twins threw a last minute party at the resort, the date was canned and he took me up there instead. By the end of the night he ended up in Claudine's bed and I hitched a lift home with Tara and J.B. Apparently Quinn and Claudine had an off and on thing before I was in the picture. Claudine snapped her fingers and decided it was on again, even though she knew we were together."

I shrugged ruefully.

"I got over Quinn quickly. Time, distance, and the fact he was a total douche helped. But Claudine's betrayal really hurt. She and I were friends. Her grandfather always made an effort to be nice to both Jason and me, to make us feel welcome. Sure, she was super perky and overly nice, but I thought she genuinely liked me. Her brother was an ass. He became really nasty after that and she just blew me off and told me to get over it like it was no big deal."

Eric took my hand and stroked the back of it gently with his thumb. "Her snapping fingers have no effect on me, Sookie."

"Well, I can see that," I huffed, pulling my hand away irritably. "Just finding her in your kitchen and knowing she'd been with you first… It hit a decade old raw nerve. It's not to do with you. It doesn't bother me you slept with her." Much. Because I was fairly certain she had it over me in the looks, style, and charisma department.

"Good. Because I don't like her. Even less now. I like you."

"Good," I said, folding my arms across my chest.

"Good." He grinned. "Now are you ready to explain why you flounced out with a lacy white bra poking from your pocket? Were you planning on lunch with a show?" He tugged playfully at the collar of my sweater, trying to get a look in and I batted him away.

"Has anyone told you you're an incorrigible oaf? I had just been to the bathroom to put my swim suit on under my clothes."

"Well, let's go," he said, pulling me in for a quick kiss. "Time's a wastin'. There's lunch and a hot tub waiting for us."

I hitched a ride in Eric's SUV, with Bonnie managing to squeeze herself onto the back seat, big doggy grin on her face. She was having a merry old day, at least. I had to hand it to Eric though, he moved past my freak-out like it was nothing, hand on my thigh as he drove, chatting and joking away as normal. He put me at ease.

We ate our cold sandwiches on his sectional couch, Eric telling me about the new novel he was working on. The protagonist was a disillusioned middle-aged divorcee who quit his job on a whim to travel the states on his settlement. Before he could leave he was unintentionally drawn into a conspiracy involving corruption with local government and a small cult-like commune on the outskirts of his small town. It sounded intriguing.

"His love interest's personality may bear some resemblance to yours," he said, eyes flashing with mischief.

"Oh, I'm sure," I replied breezily. "I know I'm your muse."

"Is that so?" He forgot his lunch and pounced on me, propping himself above me on the couch. "You think you're clever don't you?"

"I know I'm clever." I lifted my head and captured a lightning fast kiss from his lips as I tugged the socks off my feet. "In fact, I graduated second in my class at Tulane," I said.

I threw my socks across the room and moved my hand down between our bodies to pop the top button of my jeans. His eyes turned wide and took on a greedy sheen. Before he could make his move, I rolled out from under him and bolted for the sliding doors. I managed to shuck my clothes off outside and jump in the tub before he could catch me.

Eyes closed, I leaned my head back against the edge of the tub, enjoying the cool pecks of moisture from snowflakes landing on my cheeks. Eric didn't end up chasing me all the way into the tub, instead quickly ducking upstairs to get changed. The water sloshed as he climbed in. I opened one eye to stare at his fine form in board shorts. His abs were a sight to behold. As were his bright green board shorts, which featured tiny pineapple motifs.

"Did you want a drink?" he asked. "Claudine left that joint too… If you felt like you really want to relax."

"I'll stay sober thanks, I prefer to keep my wits about me. Weed isn't really my thing." Loss of control was a big turn off for me. I smoked it a handful of times when I first started college but got so lit the final time that I could barely speak. That was it for me and weed. That and the fact we were currently in a textbook horror movie situation. Hot tub, blonde in a bikini, cabin in the woods, all with a monster potentially lurking nearby. Add in weed and booze and I would be guaranteed dead before we even got to the B-grade sex scene.

"You know they've made it legal in this state."

"I know, I know. You go right ahead, though."

He shook his head, telling me it wouldn't be much fun being under the influence on his own. I propped my feet beside him where a jet of bubbles worked their magic on the soles of my feet. Eric took up the whole opposite side of the tub, his arms stretched out each way across the rim, like a party boy waiting for the girls to take their spots around him.

"You and I are very different," I said thoughtfully.

"Maybe. But I think we're the same where it counts."

I wasn't sure what to make of that. He lifted my foot into his lap and began massaging his knuckles into the arch of my foot, causing all coherent thought to fly from my head and down the valley towards the lake.


	15. Sunday Interludes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

I fell asleep in the tub, poor Eric only waking me up once we were pruned to the point of pickling. I’d unintentionally nixed any chance of hot tub action. 

“Sorry about that,” I said, reaching for the snow-dotted towel as I stepped out. Eric didn't say anything at first, opting to just check me out unashamedly. I rolled my eyes. 

“It’s okay. I know you barely slept last night," he said. "Plus, I had fun watching you sleep.” 

“You mean you had fun watching me sleep in a bikini.” 

“If you want to get technical.” 

Eric gathered the damp clothes I’d left strewn on the deck and hung them by the fire. He loaned me his fleece dressing gown to wear while I waited for them to dry. The charcoal gray gown was enormous on me, but even when wrapped up in it I still felt buck-naked wearing nothing underneath. I remembered my bra and underpants were thankfully still tucked in the pocket of my jacket hanging behind his front door. 

You see, _now_ would’ve been the perfect time for Claudine to come over unexpectedly. 

I changed into my underthings when Eric went upstairs to dry off and I reclined on the couch with my book and glass of water. I struggled to focus on the words while Mr. Topless in low slung lounge pants, settled back in front of his laptop. 

I gave up and saw I had a voicemail on my phone from Octavia, checking to see how things were going and asking if she and some of her Wiccan friends could come by the next day. I actually laughed out loud listening to the message. She used the word ‘coven’ referring to her group of witchy friends, it sounded completely off to the wall to me. Yes, I got it, I knew witches existed, but the natural way she talked about performing spells and working with her coven was like something taken straight from fiction. Either way, I called her back and we arranged for her to visit on Tuesday morning. 

I fiddled around on Facebook and Instagram, feeling wistful at the abundance of Christmas related posts. I sent a message to Jason asking after the boys and for hometown news. Eric shut the laptop with a snap and strode over to the couch. 

“I can’t write. Not when you look so fucking sexy in my robe and your hair all disheveled.” 

A flame burst to life within me and I threw my phone down. I jumped to my feet and he pulled me close into a hard kiss. I gripped myself to him, rising on my toes to meet his lips, my hands roaming the hard planes of his back. He squeezed my hip with one hand, the other moving over the curve of my bottom. We stood making out like horny teens and exploring each other until my neck began to ache and I dragged him back to lower us onto the leather couch cushions. 

He lay over me, settling between my knees and toyed with the belt around my waist, the question flashing on his face. It was different, him seeing me like this compared to in the hot tub. Sure, it was the same amount of skin, and yes, my current underwear set was on the sheer side…but I was revealing myself. On purpose. Just for him. I slowly exhaled, trying to calm my nerves and pulled the belt undone, letting the robe fall open. He drew back to his knees, gazing at my breasts and body hungrily, reverently. Claudine be damned, if a man like Eric looked at me like that, then the cup of my sexual allure surely runneth over. He brushed a flat palm along my stomach and gently ran it over the cup of my bra and back down, tracing a line with his fingertip on the along the curve of my waist and hip. I twitched with the light movement. 

“You’re beautiful,” he said, voice so low I almost didn’t catch it. 

He kissed me again, this time slowly and settled his weight onto me, the feel of his bare skin hot against mine. I adjusted myself under him, slinging my leg around his thigh, lightly grinding my pelvis against his. He groaned, finding that sweet spot with his lips just under my ear that did crazy things to my insides. I squeezed his fantastic ass, so turned on by the fact only the thin layer of my panties and his cotton pants stood between us and total skin-to-skin contact. 

“I want you,” I whispered into his ear. 

He hummed his agreement, propping himself up on an elbow, leaving just enough space for his hand to slowly stroke a path along my thigh and up between my legs. The tips of his fingers lightly traced the crease where my panties met my thigh, my breath hitching as they roamed tantalizingly close to where I needed him to be. 

“You want me…?” he asked in a voice that was pure sex, lips brushing against my ear. “Where? ...Here?” His fingers drew light, teasing circles over the cotton. “...Or here?” His finger drifted further down. 

I gave into a rush of boldness and palmed him through his sweats. “I want all of you.”

He shifted to look me in the eyes. “I don't have any condoms, I threw them away after…” 

Ah. After Claudine. I guess he didn't want to be tempted. Judging by today, she was persistent. 

“I have the implant birth control, it's good for a while.” I felt my cheeks redden. Oh geez. “I also had a full panel at my last appointment with my, um, lady doctor. So I'm good.”

I was out of experience with these talks, and they were inescapably awkward. Had to be done, even if it meant pumping the brakes on our make out session. Eric, on the other hand, looked very pleased with himself. 

“I was given the clean bill of health a week after you arrived,” he said. There was something to his tone. I pressed my palms to his chest and leveled him a stare. 

“You got yourself tested after you met me?” 

He smirked. “Can the defense claim plausible deniability?”

“Most definitely not,” I scoffed. “This is all on you, you presumptuous ass. I can’t believe you’d do that. Like it was a given we’d end up in bed!” 

His smirk stretched to a full grin. Not a single shred of sheepishness. 

“I might be presumptuous but isn't it good that I am?” His index finger drew distracting circles on the fabric of my bra around my nipple. I huffed out a sigh which seemed to amuse him more.

“Okay, then… Prove it.” 

His face really lit up. 

We stumbled up the stairs and fell onto his bed, Eric sweeping the white quilt to a pile on the floorboards first. We rolled around (yup, definitely horny teenagers), legs entwined, fingers and mouths exploring. I unclipped my bra and Eric dropped his head to my chest, showering my breasts with attention and complimenting each in turn. 

I pushed him gently onto his back and drew his pants down over the sizeable tent. Whoa. He was seriously packing. He watched, his lips parted, as I took him in my hand, gently stroking him up and down. His eyes flickered shut when I pressed a soft kiss to that sensitive spot on the underside of the tip. A growl reverberated through him when I took him into my mouth, tongue swirling and moving around him while my hand stroked what my mouth couldn't reach. 

I felt him begin to swell and strain and he urgently pulled at my shoulders drawing me up to him. 

“You're a bit too good at that,” he bit out and he traded places with me, rolling me onto my back and pulling my panties down over my ankles, adding them to the pile of bedding and clothing growing on the floor. 

He parted my legs and paused to take in my naked form, his face holding an expression I'd not seen on him before. A mix of hunger, excitement, and gratitude. Laying between my legs, he rested his cheek against my inner thigh and dragged his finger with an aching, slow deliberateness between those two places that were just begging to be touched. My hips rose unconsciously from the bed seeking contact. 

“Please… ” I gasped, my voice unexpectedly throaty. 

His finger slipped into me just as his tongue flattened against my clit. I drew in a sharp breath and moaned, all discernible thoughts stolen from me as his mouth and fingers worked me over. The momentum of my pleasure built quickly, propelled by the days, the weeks, of wanting the incredible man that was currently between my legs. His fingers curled inside of me and I clenched reflexively around them, my breaths coming ragged and fast. God, I was too close and the main act hadn't even played yet. His fingers twisted slightly, curling once more. Close... I was so close...

“Eric,” I pleaded, running my fingers through his hair to gently tug his face away from me. "I'm going to..." The words were replaced by a long, protracted moan as his fingers kept moving, gaze on mine. "I need... I need you inside me.” I don’t know where this wanton, tell-it-like-it-is Sookie came from, but I liked her. 

His blue eyes blazed, locking onto mine, fingers pumped faster, harder, forcing me to that precipice and the bastard, that damn bastard, moved his tongue to lick me one last time with conviction. I cried out, clenching hard around his fingers, pleasure racing through me. 

He pushed himself up and over me to his hands and knees, dipping his head to kiss me roughly on the mouth, muffling my moans, while his hand moved his tip to my entrance. He gently pushed his hard length into me while my orgasm played itself out around him. 

“Fuck. You're so wet, so tight,” he rasped against our kiss. 

My hips rose to meet him, legs hooking around his waist. Fingers raking up his back and through his hair, grabbing him closer as he rocked into me, stretching and filling me. Ugh, so good. He felt so good. My orgasm sustained against our urgent lovemaking and it drew me out in smaller, shuddering peaks. I was lost somewhere incredible, I wasn't sure if I was ever going to get myself back.

He clasped my hands above me on the bed, leaning down to rest his forehead against mine. We moved against each other, panting, eyes locked. My chest constricted; the raw, intimate emotions between us rearing up unexpectedly. I couldn’t look away though, I couldn’t tear my eyes from his. I couldn’t escape him, he was everywhere, everything. He continued for half a second longer before I felt him swell inside me. His hips shuddered, mouth seeking mine as he rode out his orgasm with a stifled groan. 

He lowered his weight onto me, resting his head and panting into the crook where my neck met my shoulder. I hugged him tightly to me, trying to catch my breath too. Trying to regain gravity, because surely I was floating somewhere above the bed. God, I forgot how good it felt to be thoroughly screwed. 

His torso shook against me and I realized he was laughing softly. 

“Sorry,” he groaned. “I'd like to say I could've lasted longer but I've been thinking of nothing else since I saw you in that red little two piece. I'm lucky I lasted as long as I did. God, you felt so good.” He pressed a kiss into my neck. “You’re incredible.” 

He rolled off me and fell back onto the sheets beside me. 

“No, no, no, I … No.” I tried to rally some coherent sentences. Thoughts, even. “It's fine. Better than fine. Don't apologize. You were amazing. I'm pretty sure I just lost my virginity for the second time.” I exhaled hard. He laughed and I joined in after a beat. I felt so light, so good. Like all the cobwebs and darkness had been swept clean from my soul. 

I got out of bed and shakily crossed the hall to the bathroom to clean myself up. I playfully smacked Eric's ass as we passed in the corridor on the way back. “Little minx,” he called after me. I was feeling bold. 

I hauled the blankets onto the bed and experienced a shiver of self-consciousness as the post orgasm glow faded away. I pulled the blinds closed, turning the wooden venetians so they let in some of the fading afternoon light. I pulled my panties back on and found a t-shirt in the brushed walnut tallboy that sat opposite his bed. It was a faded black tee, the cotton soft and worn. The logo was advertising a seaside festival in Maine for an oyster shucking competition. Well & Truly Shucked. I giggled at the name and pulled it on.

He took his time returning to bed and I curled under the covers letting my thoughts wander. Had we really only kissed for the first time two days ago? Maybe we should have waited a little while longer before sleeping together? No, I shook the echo of regret away, it felt right. Life was short. 

With the next breath, a surge of guilt scooped my stomach hollow along with the realization I wasn’t feeling remotely guilty for moving on for the first time after Alcide. It hadn’t even played across my thoughts. It was an awful, confusing, upside down logic to the emotion. Guilty and not feeling guilty at the same time. I roughly brushed the tears gathering in my eyes when I heard Eric moving back down the hall. 

He appeared at the doorway, naked as the day he was born, holding a wine bottle with two glasses in one hand and a wooden chopping board filled with a selection of nibbles in the other. 

I gave him a wobbly smile and sat up in the bed. 

“Fitting t-shirt.” He winked and settled down beside me. Eric did surprisingly well with his nibbles selection considering how bare his kitchen was. Apple wedges, cheese slices, crackers, and a small roll of pepperoni. I made us each a cracker while he poured us a glass of red. 

“You’re alright?” he asked, passing me the wine. I guess my eyes were red and watery.

I nodded popping the cracker into my mouth in one go. Best not to speak just yet. Pretty sure the guide to Sleeping with Men 101 expressly dictates no crying post-coitus.

“Would you like to sleep here tonight? Bonnie seems pretty set up downstairs guarding the living room.” 

“She’s as much a guard dog as you are full of pure intentions,” I said once I swallowed down my mouthful.

He shrugged, stretching out his long legs and crossing them at the ankle. I tried not to stare at his naked man parts. He was very comfortable in his own skin, surely a European thing. Or maybe just an Eric thing. 

“You should still stay.” 

“I’ll think about it.” I swirled the wine around my glass and licked my lips. “Although… I could be convinced if you make it worth my while.” The strange twisty feelings inside me were still there, but rapidly disappearing in Eric's company.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” He surprised me by kissing me sweetly. 

Things were comfortable after that, our conversation wandering from place to place. Eric told me about the festival where he got my t-shirt. He’d spent a few weekends in Maine researching for a novel and happened to stay there during some famous seafood festival. Spur of the moment, he joined in on the oyster shucking competition. He showed me the small pale scars along the side of his index fingers where he had mauled himself with the oyster knife. 

“I lost abysmally.” He gave me a goofy, boyish smile and bit into an apple slice. 

“So, you were sure enough of me to get tested but still didn’t buy condoms?” I asked, bold as brass. The question was niggling and there was no smooth way to segue into the topic.

“Sookie, your temper might not be predictable but I have you pegged.” 

I paused mid-sip of my wine and raised my brows at him. Proceed carefully, Northman. 

“Are you the type of person who doesn’t stay on top of your health at all times? I bet you would’ve brought your own condoms if you weren’t already on any birth control.”

That was, that was… Right. Damn him. I huffed and rolled my eyes at him. 

“And what if I still wanted to use one even though neither of us has any?” 

“Then we would have happily improvised with other… activities.”

“You realize you’re a–“ 

“A presumptuous ass? So I’ve been told.” 

We didn’t leave his bed for the rest of the day. Eric brought his laptop up when it got dark and put on a movie for us to watch, although I couldn’t tell you what it was about. We were tussling under the covers again as soon it began playing. 

This time I took the reins, riding him on top, holding his thumb to my clit and guiding it in slow circles so I could reach my end the way I’d wished the first time - with him inside me. I squeezed his other hand to my breast. I was determined to pay him back for his sneaky orgasm-giving shenanigans during our first session. Eric looked like his every last wish on Earth were granted. An expression of almost disbelief ghosted across his features, his unfocused eyes watching as I grinded and rode my way to a blazing climax. Then I really took my revenge, leaning forward and pressing his shoulders onto the bed, moving slowly on top of him teasing and drawing him to the edge time and time again only to pull away at the last second. 

He growled when he cottoned on to my game and rolled me onto my back as I giggled my butt off. He drew my legs around him and be entered me slowly, moving within me with sure, smooth strokes. He dropped his head, kissing me softly, his lips then marking a trail along the line of my jaw, his breath warm on my neck. The sudden change in dynamic caught me completely off guard. I closed my eyes and buried my face against his shoulder, breathing him in. I was totally unprepared for it, unprepared for him to be like this. Yearning and sweet. He cried out in Swedish as he came and afterward we lay side by side spooning, silent and completely spent. Eric stroked my hair where it fell across my neck and I simply enjoyed the sensation of his warmth and weight leaning against me. 

“So, I guess I’ll stay the night,” I said with a beleaguered sigh. 

“Eh, doesn’t really matter now…” he replied offhandedly without missing a beat. I gasped in indignation and elbowed him as he laughed, locking me in place with his arms as I squirmed trying to get away. We kept talking long into the night, our conversations taking us to weird and amusing places, from absurd conspiracy theories to our ideal versions of utopia, and then back to more everyday topics, like our favorite movies and music, swapping childhood memories.

Dot’s warning, Octavia’s wards, the monster out in the dark, and even the emotional ghosts of my marital past seemed like an unreality. Just like Eric had said, they felt like things which existed and moved independent to the bubble we had created for the two of us. I knew the bubble would have to pop eventually, too much was going on for it to not, but at that moment it was like nothing could reach us.


	16. The Road, Paved with Good Intentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And the plot continues. Thanks to all my loyal readers here for sticking with me.

I was being shaken, panic and fear causing me to shout and lash out with my arms.

"Sookie. Sookie! You're dreaming."

Eric tried to still my hands but I pushed blindly away from him, sitting up with a gasp. Thin early morning light was peeking from around the blinds. It made the room look devoid of color, painting it in a faded wash of black and pale gray.

He placed his warm hand on my back but I shook it off, scooting to the edge of the bed and grabbing the water bottle off the nightstand. I unscrewed the cap and drank deeply. Flashes of dream memory toyed with the edges of my consciousness like an echo down a long hall after a door slammed. I couldn't remember what I'd dreamed of but it was an awful, suffocating feeling. The feeling of being confined in a tight space. Of a moist fetid breath against my skin.

"I'm okay. Thanks for waking me."

I laid back down and curled my back against him, his arm pulling me tight. My tongue and teeth felt fuzzy, my face oily. I'd fallen asleep buck naked without brushing my teeth or washing off my makeup. Our bubble from the day before had popped and reality was rising as surely as the sun over the lake.

It wants you, Sookie. That awful thing is waiting. It won't stop until it gets what it wants. It was easy to give credence to Dot's words after a dream like that.

"I could get used to this." He nipped at my shoulder.

"Sorry?" My mind was elsewhere. I tried to shake the dark thoughts away.

"You naked in my bed. This." His hand smoothed over the curve of my bottom, slipping between my thighs.

"Oh," I breathed.

We stayed spooning as we had sex, our legs a sweaty tangle, my head resting over Eric's outstretched arm on the bed while his free hand reached over my hip and further down to stroke me. This time, it took longer for me to relax into the moment, but his insistent touching eventually coaxed a powerful orgasm from me. I clasped his arm around my shoulders tightly as I surrendered. Eric succumbed a moment later, the both of us thrusting hard against the other.

"Yes, definitely can get used to this." He nuzzled his scratchy cheek into the back of my neck, his chest vibrating as he murmured happily.

We took turns showering, much to Eric's disappointment, but I wanted to get back to my place and get ready for a day helping Tara at the station.

"Wouldn't you rather spend the day in bed with me?" He knew I couldn't stay but he was trying his best to make it hard on me, toweling himself dry by the fire right where I could see.

"Get shucked." I wiggled into my jeans, pulling up the fly.

Eric laughed. "I'm trying to."

We walked back to my place, Bonnie zipping ahead, her form sprightly across the soft powder deposited over the last twenty-four hours. It was harder going for me, my boots sinking into the drift and I was keenly feeling the ache in my most sensitive areas from my adventures with Eric. It hurt, but I didn't mind. I hoped it was something I'd be getting used to from now on. I'd also need to find my snowshoes if I was going to keep trekking back and forth with snowfall like this.

I didn't bother lighting the fire and just turned on the electric heating when we got in. The cabin was an icebox, condensation misting the windows in my absence. Eric made the coffee while I cooked us oatmeal with stewed apples and cinnamon.

Eric sent me on my way with a kiss that almost crumbled my resolve but I forced myself out the door and drove into town, feeling mixed about leaving the cabin. Happy to get away from the bad things that lingered there, but immediately missing the company of a certain 6'4 Swede who knew how to press all my right and wrong buttons.

Kenya nodded to me when I entered the station, barely lifting her eyes from her paperwork. So much for the in-roads I'd created with her on the previous Friday. I guessed she was back to not appreciating my presence at the station. I stuck my head in Tara's doorway, but she was on the phone. She grinned and waved me through to the conference room.

I began working on my laptop, setting up a spreadsheet with columns of personal information for each girl so commonalities could be easily seen; family members, friends, hobbies, extracurriculars, teachers, physicians. There was a lot of overlap. It was a small town. Three of the girls had the same doctor, their parents all knew each other, they shared many of the same teachers at high school, and they all loved skiing and swimming at the lake during summer. One girl even worked a summer as a lifeguard. I couldn't remember Sam ever mentioning it, but it was before my time.

"I'm paying a visit to someone tomorrow afternoon in Utah." Tara just about skipped into her seat across from me.

"A suspect?"

"No. Well, maybe. He was a long-haul trucker in the 90s and 2000s. Came through fairly regularly, had an off and on thing for a couple years with a barmaid at Robbie's from '97 through '99." She leaned forward in her seat to me, placing her flat palms on the table. "And get this, he served a short stint in 2003 at USP for aggravated assault. He picked up a prostitute hitching along the 191 and beat the crap out of her when she refused his advances. She managed to escape him at a truck stop when he stopped for the bathroom."

"Geez, that's awful. It could certainly fit with the timeline of the girls, though. MO could be right."

"I'm not getting my hopes up, but it's a lead. It's a start." Her relief was palpable.

I showed her the spreadsheet I'd been working on and she had me email it to Kenya for her to continue fleshing out. I shared with Tara how one girl, Jeni, had spent a summer lifeguarding. Tara knew this, but wasn't sure if Bud had ever talked to Sam. I told of the invite Sam had extended to me to visit him at the ranger station and Tara asked me to bring it up and see if he remembered anything.

"I'm still re-interviewing everyone involved. So just see if he remembers anything of interest – don't worry I'll get around to interviewing him properly," she hastily added. I must have looked a little panicked at the request. It was one thing to interview the opposing party during a deposition or in court but a completely different thing when it was part of an official police investigation.

I spent the rest of the morning listening to old cassette tapes from Bud's interviews when Jade first went missing, reading through the corresponding transcripts at the same time. Dear Lord, Sheriff Dearborn was an unsympathetic ass. It was no wonder Glenda was so disillusioned with Tara's efforts.

The process was draining for me, having to listen to so much hurt and confusion from Glenda, her friends, and even Chester Chad. He was utterly distraught and I felt a prickle of sympathy for him despite his assholish behavior to his then girlfriend. It made me wonder what Quinn was up to after all these years.

Tara tapped my shoulder at lunchtime and told me she was shouting.

"If you won't let me pay you for your time then I'm buying you food," she told me.

She took me to Robbie's, the local bar and grill, and we ordered burgers with a pitcher of homebrewed ginger ale. Marty, the new owner who'd kept the old name, stopped by to greet Tara. Tara introduced me to him and he shook my hand, good-naturedly welcoming me back town. He was maybe a little older than us, dark hair buzzed short and broad shoulders, the kind of broad shoulders were built by hauling kegs to and from the bar. He promised me a free jug of beer as a welcome if I ever decided to visit during Friday night happy hour.

"It's time to fess up, Sook," Tara said as soon as Marty walked back to the bar.

"What now?" I topped up our glasses with ginger ale and set the pitcher back down.

"I think it's time you tell me what's going on up at your place." Her face was stone-cold. Her eyes bored into me.

I froze, my breath catching, wondering how much she knew. Had Sam talked to her? Was Octavia blabbing around Chester to everyone?

"Start with what you know and I can fill in the gaps," I hedged.

"Don't you lawyer me, Stackhouse."

"I don't really know where to begin..."

"Maybe begin with why Dana Bradley saw you walking arm in arm down Main Street, Chester with someone fitting the description of the neighbor formerly known as your nemesis?"

I let out a gusty laugh. "Oh geez, is that what you're talking about? I thought…"

"Thought what?" Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Damn it.

"Nothin'. And yes, Eric and I… Have something going on."

"Uh-huh." I could tell already she was going to dredge every last piece of information from me.

"We're together, I guess." I shrugged. "There's not much to tell." Assigning labels this early seemed rash. I could hardly say we were dating, but we were definitely more than friends. The ache between my thighs was proof in the pudding.

"Have you guys slept together?"

I frowned, not entirely happy with her probing.

"Sookie," her brow pinched together. "You're stuck all the way up at the lake on your own."

"And what's that supposed to mean? Stop sugar coating it, Tara. That's not your style."

"You slept with him already? Is that a smart idea?"

"I'm sorry, didn't you tell me just a few weeks ago that I needed to 'get on that'?'" I folded my arms, pressing my lips into a thin, unhappy line.

"I was half lit that night, doesn't count… How well do you even know him?" she continued, "you came back here to deal with everything that's happened to you – to give yourself a break. I don't want to see you get hurt. You do know that he and Claudine..?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, is she just running around and telling the whole town about that? That was months ago, for the record." I shook my head. "You'd think growing up in Bon Temps I'd get used to small town gossip."

Our meals arrived and Tara picked up the bun and stuffed some of her fries into her burger. I did the same. The rush of déjà vu was fierce. We were teens again eating burgers after a day spent hiking through the park trails and jumping off Hawk's rock into the crisp summer waters of the lake. And yes, even back then she would cut me to the quick, grilling and picking apart my crushes. She had the protect portion of 'protect and serve' down pat way before she ever joined the force. She had _not_ liked Quinn.

"He's a good man," I said after taking a few bites of my meal. "I haven't been a position to meet someone new and this happened naturally. It doesn't feel weird. And you're right, I don't know him other than the basics. Doesn't mean I'm being foolish."

"You don't know that."

"Just chill, T. He's only here for a couple more months and then he's back home to NYC."

She nodded then, seeming satisfied with my response. She had my best interests at heart, but I didn't need her guarding them. If anything, I could do with her guarding my physical self, but there was no easy way to explain that amount of crazy. Believe me, I had turned the thought back and forth and every-which-way over.

The afternoon moved quickly. I finished listening to Jeni's father's police interview and needed a break. It was nasty, accusations flying back and forth between her father and Bud. Bud sounded half pissed through the entire interview. I couldn't imagine the pressure he was under at the time, but no there was no excuse. I refilled my cup of coffee and pulled my phone from my purse.

S: How's your work going? Did I inspire you enough last night & this morning? ;-)

His reply buzzed through a minute later.

E: YES. I also accept inspiration in picture and text form.

S: You'll be waiting a while for that kind of inspiration.

E: So you're telling me there's a chance if I wait long enough?

I laughed and put the phone down. As I continued reviewing the evidence, my eyes were drawn to the bathroom door across the hall from me. I chewed my lip, considering the risk. I'd never been in a relationship like this. An interlude. An affair with a predetermined end date. We had our own lives to return to after Lake Douglas, and as I'd told Tara, we maybe only had a couple months left to spend together. Whatever we did would have no long-term consequences. I could afford to live in the now. My heart quickened.

Oh, what the heck.

My phone was blowing up with messages from Eric by the time I got back from the bathroom and, flame-faced, I stuffed my cell into my bag without daring to look. His reaction would have to wait.

Eric practically pounced on me when I let myself in the front door that evening, and I was grateful, even desperate, for the distraction as we began stripping our clothes right there in the entryway. Listening to those interviews hung a dark cloud over my head.

It put my life and the loss I'd experienced into perspective. I had never had cause to be thankful for it, but after everything I'd just listened to..? I _was_ thankful, in an awful, macabre way. I was thankful that the loss I'd experienced was all under known parameters – all relatively normal circumstances that I could feel comfortable with when going to sleep at night. Death caused by misfortune or old age. But the grief of losing someone and not knowing the where, how or why had to be gut-wrenching. A kind of loss that would refuse to abate. A wound that would fester and never heal.

Eric picked me up and I wrapped my legs against his waist.

"Oh, how I've missed you two," he crooned, nuzzling into the valley between my breasts. "Fantastic on camera but even better in the flesh."

I laughed and he led us to the living room couch, where I let him continue distracting me until my toes curled and I was chanting his name.

The next morning, I was surprised to discover I'd slept the whole night through undisturbed. It was a first since I'd arrived at Lake Douglas. The night was also fantastically incident free. Eric was wrapped around me like white on rice with his big toe stroking my calf up and down.

"Good morning," he murmured into my hair. I rolled to face him.

"Morning." My voice was croaky. I wondered how long he'd been lying there awake.

"I'm so glad I chose here instead of Vermont." He pushed some hair away from my face and I snuck a kiss into his palm.

"It was a near thing, huh?"

"There's this amazing little place Pam found on Lake Champlain. It was a toss-up."

"What made you choose here?"

"Too far to drive back home if I got sick of it."

"Sick of it?"

"Sick of trying to force a book from nothing."

"Will you go back for Christmas?" The question had been nagging me. Neither of us had mentioned the holiday but the closer it drew the harder it was to ignore.

"I have to. I've had tickets booked since I arrived. The publisher has a big end-of-year event I'm expected to attend and Pam's annual Christmas day buffet she hosts. Plus, there's some business I have to sort out in the city…" he trailed off from his rambling, looking unhappy. Uncomfortable. I wasn't expecting an invite but it sure made me feel like he was making excuses for not giving one. Odd. I filed that thought away for later consideration.

"That's fine," I said, patting his chest. "I have plans for Christmas day. Although, Claudine's family's resort hosts a big New Year's bash every year. Will you be back for that?"

He shook his head, disappointment crossing his features.

"I wish I'd met you before booking my tickets. I'm going to be away for two weeks. I don't want you staying here on your own."

I shrugged. "It'll be fine. Maybe there's another single, male neighbor to the other side of my place who I can convince to stay with me?"

He growled and rolled over on top of me, boxing me in with his limbs.

"Not. Going. To. Happen." He punctuated each word with a hard kiss.

"Easy, cowboy." I looped my arms behind his neck. "Two weeks sure is going to be hard to while away without you."

Eric passed over the obvious sex joke lurking in my words and simply replied with a subdued, "I know."


	17. Charmed, I'm sure

Octavia and her merry band of witches arrived quarter past ten that morning. They emerged from an older model SUV with duffle bags, books, and mostly cheery faces. 

She’d brought four of her cohorts with her: Donovan, a stocky guy in his late 40s who seemed more like a rigid banker than a witch; Genevieve, a softly spoken redhead; Belladonna, a surly looking woman who surely wasn’t using the name she was given at birth (she was even dressed in the requisite goth attire); and finally, Amelia, a perky early-20s brunette who looked like every other ski-bunny that crowded the slopes after Christmas. 

I ushered them inside and they settled around the dining table while I served tea and coffee. I placed a serving tray of freshly baked snickerdoodles beside a smaller platter of cut fruit and took my place at the head of the table. Eric stood behind me to my right, leaning back against the window frame, his signature smirk in place. Whether his amusement was directed at the motley crew who were here to help, or at length I went to appease my sense of Southern hospitality, I didn’t know. 

Octavia asked me to recount the happenings of the last few weeks, which I did to the rather enraptured audience. I worked to keep the tremor from my voice and retell it simply like I was recounting the plot of a movie to a curious acquaintance. My life, of late, had often felt like it could be a plot to a movie. And a bad movie, at that. 

Octavia inclined her head once I had spoken my piece and I took that as my cue to leave, moving to the kitchen where I busied myself with the remains of the dishes and tried to work off my nervous energy through my idle hands. I tried my hardest not to listen to their hushed, excited tones and before long they moved outdoors. 

Eric sat up onto the kitchen bench and watched them from the window, helping himself to the cookies that were left on the cooling rack. 

“There’s a lot of chanting and hand-holding going on out there,” he chortled between bites. “Ah, that stocky guy is holding up a ceremonial knife!” He let out a sudden gust of laughter. 

“Can it,” I hissed, worried they might notice him gleefully watching from the window. “They’re here to help. Who knows, they might be successful and that- that beastly thing is leaving me alone at the moment so maybe all it needs is a nudge from some well-intentioned…” 

“Woodstock revivalists?” 

I whacked his leg playfully with my tea towel. 

“Hey – I just cauldron like I see them.” 

I groaned and left him to his cookie buffet, moving to the first-floor bathroom to release Bonnie from where she was confined. She was eagerly waiting for me, tail thumping, and her excitement palpable at the prospect of new playmates waiting for her outside. I donned my outdoor gear and hooked her onto the leash and we went out for a little walk and to watch from afar. 

They kept themselves busy for the next hour, sprinkling a large bag of salt in a circle around the home, placing large river stones at each of the cardinal points, and chanting together. They finally disbanded and I wandered over. They were in good spirits, even surly Belladonna, and I was buoyed by a sense of hope from their positivity. Maybe this would mark the end page on an awful episode in the life of Sookie? 

Bonnie dragged at my arm, doing her best to dislocate my shoulder, but I held her firm. 

“It went well then?” I asked.

Amelia squatted a little to scratch the top of Bonnie's head. 

“As well as can be expected,” she said, looking up at me. I saw the flash of concern and doubt in her eyes. 

“You think it won’t work,” I said flatly, my hope swiftly bursting like a balloon. 

“No, no, I think it may help, though from what you’ve said about Eurynomos I’m not sure for how long or how strong the banishments will protect you.” She stood to her feet and drew me away by the arm, darting a cautious glance over her shoulder to the rest of the group. They were busying themselves with packing up their supplies and chatting amongst themselves. “Look, between you and me, I’m not part of this coven. I’m just here in town to work the winter season up on the mountain.”

I opened my mouth to speak, object to her presence, but she held up her palm to stop me. 

“I am a Wiccan, though. I am under the tutelage of a damn good witch back in Washington. She’d blow everyone here out of the water.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I don’t want Octavia to leave you with any false ideas about how much we can do to help.” 

“Well, she already said there was little she could do to influence it, but what she’s suggested so far has seemed to have helped.” 

“Or it could be the company you’re keeping.” Her eyes traveled over my shoulder to the cabin. 

"Yeah, that was a theory I was floating too…” 

“It wants to catch you on your own, is my guess. Doesn’t want to risk its chances when you have company around.” 

I wondered if she meant 'catch' as in catch my attention or catch as in physically apprehend me. I shivered. 

“I know you said that you didn’t want to leave, but maybe it’s something to consider. Or at the very least just make sure you are never, ever left alone here.” Her wide brown eyes implored me. She was young and still so innocent looking, with her wavy brown hair cropped in a short bob and her face free of fine lines. It made her pleading all the more effective. Like a wide eyed Bonnie begging me for scraps.

I sighed, tugging at my pony tail apprehensively. 

“You’re right, I don’t want to leave. But Eric has to go away next week for Christmas… I’ll be here on my own for fourteen days.” 

She shook her head resolutely. 

“You can’t do that. You absolutely should not be out here on your own.” 

“Finally, another voice of reason!” Eric said, appearing at my side. My shoulders tensed. I felt trapped between the combined pressure of their wills from either side. “She’s crazy for thinking she will be fine on her own here while I’m away. Please convince her.” 

“Well, look - what can I do?” I snapped, interrupting their nodding session. “There isn’t really anyone else I can stay with. Tara and J.B. have his family staying with them during Christmas. Terry and Arlene are full to the brim as it is. I hardly know anyone else in town well enough to encroach on their hospitality. And good luck finding a vacancy at a hotel or otherwise this time of year.” If my tone was rude to both Eric and my visiting guests, then it was hardly my fault. This entire situation was none of my damn fault! This was my home. I wasn’t going to be run out of it. 

But to my dismay, Amelia called Octavia and the group over to us and they each took turns admonishing me for wishing to stay at the cabin alone. Octavia offered me a bed at her cottage, but Amelia’s eyes widened and she shook her head at me in a way that would be imperceptible to Octavia. 

“No way,” Amelia mouthed, her silent moving lips enunciating with exaggeration. “Hoarders.” At least, that’s what I think she said. Judging by Phillip and Octavia’s apartment above the store, it was hardly surprising their home was chock full of stock, regardless of what Octavia said about using the spare apartment space as a means of keeping their home tidy.

“Maybe Amelia can stay with you?” Eric offered and I shot him a glare. I folded my arms, feeling attacked from every angle. It was hardly his place to offer my house as accommodations to someone I hardly knew. 

Thankfully, Amelia shook her head in reply. 

“I have to drive to the resort nearly every day for work. Staying here would add too much to my commute, even more if there’s been a big dump of snow or a blizzard. Although…” She chewed her lip contemplatively. “Sookie, you could stay with me. I’m shacked up in a two bedroom condo at Chester. It’s owned by the resort and rented to the seasonal staff during the winter. I’m not sure about pets, but since it’s only short-term – I’m sure it’ll be fine. 

“You know, this could actually work perfectly...” she continued. “I’m barely there through the day so we’d hardly ever cross paths. Plus, it’d be fun to have a short-term roomie to hang out with, I’m normally too pooped to go out and socialize after work!” She was bobbing her head with excitement by the time she finished speaking. 

There was a chorus of agreement from Eric, Octavia and the group and it seemed it was decided even before I could grit out my peer-pressured response. 

I waited until the coven left to storm upstairs and slam the door that connected my loft from the rest of the cabin. I dropped myself back onto the bed with a furious huff. I would bet my right hand that Eric was listening in the wings, waiting to drop into my conversation with Amelia at just the right time. In fact, I bet he would have forced me onto her even if she hadn’t offered me a bed. I wanted to whack him upside the head, the way Gran used to when Jason would act out. Instead, I pulled my pillow over my face and shouted my frustrations into it. 

I felt the bed depress with his weight and he withdrew the pillow from my face. 

“That’s a little much, don’t you think?” His tone was patient but there was a shade of patronization there.

“Just like it’s a little much to get everyone to gang up on me and force me into staying with a literal stranger? Who knows what she’s really like? She could be a complete sociopath, or worse – a slob!” 

“She’s a perky twenty-two-year-old ski instructor who is super excited to have you. It will be fine.”

“Well, maybe if you think so highly of her then you should stay with her instead?” 

“Sookie…” He was beginning to run out of patience. 

“Fine,” I huffed, sitting up. “I appreciate all the concern you’re showing me, but you should know by now that I hate being railroaded into the doing anything. You can’t just decide something for me and think that I’ll accept being pressured into it. That’s out of line, Eric.” 

“Okay, I agree it might not have been the best approach, but even you have to admit that staying here on your own is a foolish idea.” 

“I’m not alone. I have Bonnie.” 

“Don’t be obstinate. You know what I mean.” He picked up my leg and placed it onto his lap, pulling off my sock. He continued speaking as he began massaging my toes. “Before I began staying that thing was escalating its behavior, wouldn’t you agree?” 

His fingers were doing a number on me, finding every tender pressure point and I laid back on the bed, despite my ire. 

“Alright, I can agree with that.” I finally conceded, fully aware of his blatant manipulation via my feet. I didn’t bother resisting him. It was like resisting an ice cold coke after hiking the desert.

“It’s going to be hard enough missing you for two weeks, let alone trying to sleep knowing that you’re here risking yourself because you were too foolhardy to leave. I need to know that you’ll be safe when I’m gone.” 

“You’ll miss me, huh?” I lifted my head from the pillow and flashed him a grin. 

He pursed his lips, catching his slip - the one that showed his emotional hand. He huffed and met my smile with his own boyish version. 

“Yes, I will, even if that surprises you. You’ll miss me too.” 

I laid my head back down, trying to restrain the width of my grin. Being wanted felt pretty darn great.

“Fine. Okay. I’ll stay with Amelia. Just don’t try that crap again - your method sucks.” 

“Noted. What about now?” He moved the pressure of his fingertips further down my foot and along the arch. I sighed, despite trying not to.

“You owe me at least twenty foot-rubs before I consider the score remotely even.” 

“I’ll consider it a small price to pay,” he chuckled. 

“Did I say twenty? I’m sorry, I meant forty.” 

After lunch, we made the drive across to the ranger station, located at the official entrance of the Ayóo National Park. It was a pain to get to, considering my property bordered the park, but I wasn’t confident enough to take on the old fire trails roads in the height of winter. It meant we had to drive through the town of Lake Douglas and double back towards the park from the north. 

Eric had phoned ahead and so Sam was expecting us, waiting on the porch of the unobtrusive wooden building. Sam pulled me into an unexpected hug and greeted Eric with a friendly backslap. Once inside, Eric introduced us to the other on duty ranger, Bill Compton, a vaguely familiar and handsome man roughly Sam’s age. His standard-issue khaki shirt was buttoned right to the collar, with his dark hair styled in an old fashioned sweep to the side, replete with long side burns. 

“It’s lovely to make your acquaintance, Sookie. Always a pleasure to come across a fellow southerner.” He held my hand a touch too long, before moving onto a perfunctory handshake for Eric. Eric didn’t seem impressed. 

“Likewise,” I smiled, delighted by his drawl and geniality. Gran would have eaten him up whole; she was always a sucker for an old-fashioned gentleman. “Do I know you from somewhere? You’re awful familiar to me.” 

“Perhaps. I moved here straight from university for a graduate position at the park. I’ve been living in the area and working for the parks service for over twenty years now. I was aware of your family’s home and their frequent summer vacations, so I’m sure we bumped into each other over the years.”

I thought back hard to my frequent visits to the park over the years and felt with a tickle of remembrance. He was likely right. He wasn’t the most stand-out sort of man – in looks or countenance, I had probably seen him countless times and he’d just never left a lasting mark upon my memory. Especially if I never talked to him. There was no specific memory of our paths crossing but I just had the feeling I had met him somewhere. 

“Twenty years. That’s impressive,” I said, ignoring the quiet snort from Eric. “You must be dedicated to the area to stick around that long.” 

“It’s a calling,” he said, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips. “My degree is in forestry conservation, but it’s history that I have the most affinity with. I’ve been fortunate to be selected to assist the Park History Program. I believe Sam already mentioned that I’ve been tasked with helping expand their oral history directory with stories from the area.” 

We moved to sit at his work station, a large office desk, neatly arranged with a large map of the park pinned to the board above him. Our conversation moved onto my family’s history in the area and Louisiana, of which Bill had an enthusiastic interest. 

My Grandpa Mitchell’s daddy, Earl Stackhouse, was born and bred in the area and built the family cabin on a large swathe of land owned by the family. I told Bill how the land had been passed on through the generations and the cabin had acted an anchor to the area after the Stackhouses sold off most of the land to the government for parkland and some of it to private sellers. The Stackhouses moved to northern Louisiana after World War I; Earl Stackhouse following the oil boom. He took the money he made on the land and invested it into a medium size oil company just starting out in Shreveport. 

The company performed with great success thanks to the petroleum rich natural resources - and thanks to the post-war boom. The company bought out by the United Gas Company in the early 30s. UGC had set up shop in Shreveport and absorbed just about all of the competition. Earl took the money and purchased the farmhouse in Bon Temps for his new wife Constance Stackhouse (nee Beasley), and he stepped down from his management role, happy to fill the role of factory foreman and family man, cementing our blue-collar status. One that could still afford to vacation out of state every year. Grandpa Mitchell was born in Bon Temps not long after.

Bill, on the other hand, shared his vastly different background. Old money. Old, old money. Raised outside of Baton Rouge on his ancestral plantation home, he’d been born with the proverbial silver spoon. He smiled stiffly when I asked if he visited his family often. Ah, I supposed they couldn’t have been too pleased with his career choice. Or maybe his family was what drove him to live in the woods three states away. 

Eric and Sam had seated themselves at the other side of the lodge and as Bill and I talked, I caught snippets of the other men's sports oriented conversation. Eric winked at me when he saw me look. 

“I think it would be worthwhile if you talk to Long Shadow,” Bill said when we moved onto the topic of my nightly visitor. He hadn’t heard of any unusual animal sightings in the area. Bill retrieved a small card and slid it across to me. Written in a neat hand was Long Shadow’s number. 

“And he is…?” 

“He’s Navajo. He runs a workshop in Chester. Long Shadow’s family go back many generations in this area so I’ve been interviewing him extensively. He’s been a great wealth of knowledge for me and the project; he is very familiar with the land and all the fauna living here in the park. You know, there is a great deal of mythology surrounding animals and others in Navajo folklore. Skinwalkers and the like.” 

I laughed. Sam with his Bigfoot obsession and now Bill with Skinwalkers. Bill waited for me to simmer down, not overly impressed at my reaction. 

“I’m not suggesting there’s any validity to the idea of Skinwalkers, but it’s widely known most myths begin with an element of truth. Skinwalkers, however, are not something Navajo are comfortable speaking freely about. It would not be wise to bring up with him directly. Aside from that, I’m sure he will be happy to have a look at the track photos and offer his opinion.” 

I booked in a time the following week for Bill to come out and visit me. His plan was to listen and record some of my childhood stories from visiting and using the park. Eric’s phone rang as the conversation was wrapping up and he excused himself to talk outside. I used the opportunity to chat with Sam, with Bill watching on curiously. 

“I can’t say I remember a whole lot about Jeni, cher,” he shrugged, when I asked Sam about working with Jeni, the third missing girl. “We had a big rotation of guards that summer. It was sad. The whole town was in mourning.” 

“I can barely remember the disappearances, truthfully. I think Gran tried to shield me from most of the craziness. She definitely encouraged Jason’s protective streak. He was practically my shadow the summer Sarah Johnson disappeared.” I had only been thirteen when the last girl, the youngest of the group at 15, had vanished. Jason could be an oaf, but he took his role of big brother seriously. 

“Anyway, I just wanted to give you a heads up,” I explained. “Tara is planning on questioning everyone in relation to the disappearances. She said she’ll be by sometime soon to see if you can remember anything. Hopefully thinking about it might jog your memory.” 

“Sure thing. I’ll tell her everything I know,” Sam agreed. 

“Is this your wife?” I asked, picking up a framed picture of a pretty redhead. Sam, leaned back on creaky his chair, grinning broadly. From beside his computer monitor, he grabbed small trinket from a small wooden tray that held office junk and he began idly tossing it, the orange bead flashing up and down. 

“Yes, ma’am," he said proudly. "Mel and I will celebrate our one year anniversary in February.” 

The shot was a candid one of her laughing and cuddling a golden retriever. I was surprised to see she was younger than Sam, perhaps younger than me even. I had no trouble imagining him snagging an attractive younger woman. He was definitely popular with the girls when I worked for him. Sam always had an easy-going, carefree attitude that endeared him to everyone. I'd harbored a secret crush for a few years. Not that I would have gone there. Aside from the age difference, by the time I was of legal age, he was my boss and I could never cross that line. 

“She seems sweet.” I smiled, returning the frame to his desk. “How did you meet?” 

“She spent a summer season here volunteering as a wildlife technician a couple years back. She’s a veterinarian in Chester.” 

“So an office romance,” I said, waggling my brows. 

“If only. I was her boss. I had to wait till the end of summer to ask her out.” 

“Boss? Oh - so, you’re the supervising ranger here?” I asked, looking between both men in confusion. I had assumed Bill held the senior position. He had been here long enough. “Sorry, I just assumed it was Bill.” 

Sam winked, “It’s not always age before beauty, Sook.” 

Bill sent a withering look to the back of Sam’s head. There was certainly no love lost between those two.

Eric was on his phone pacing outside when I said my goodbyes and left the lodge. His face was serious, shoulders tense. He held his finger up, signaling to give him a minute and he walked around the corner, snippets of his conversation floating over to me. 

“That’s not good enough... No, I’m done. Completely done… I don’t care what she says, or if there’s going to be a fight… Yes, I know. It’s long past being an issue. I’ll be able to sort it out next week… Yes, consultation booked.” 

I let myself into the car and filed away Longshadow’s number into my wallet. I doubted I’d call him. I had high hopes for what the coven had done for me this morning. I was all about that optimistic thinking. Today, at least.

“Are you okay?” I asked when Eric hopped into the passenger seat. “Who was that?” 

He stopped midway through buckling his seatbelt. 

“That was my agent. Just sorting out through stuff with the publisher.” 

I snuck a few glimpses of Eric from my peripheral as we exited the park. He was staring out the window, his face tight, knuckles rapping tensely on the plastic of the door frame. Whatever he was sorting through was enough to set him on edge. It must’ve been a doozy because he’d been nothing but calm dealing with all the crazy shit going on my life. But... He clearly wasn’t ready to share yet and I had no intention of pushing him.

 _How well do you even know him?_ Tara’s question floated through my mind. 

I focused on the road as we drove back through the town and towards the turn off that would take us onto Little Bank Road. Not very well at all, I realized, in answer to Tara’s question. I think I had the gist of his general personality – easy-going, opportunistic, creative, competitive, fun loving. Lots of those good adjectives. He’d told me about his childhood but very little of his adult life. I didn’t recall him mentioning any past relationships. But it was still early days between me and Eric. 

And it would only ever be early days between us, I chided myself. Stop over analyzing Sookie and just enjoy it for what it is. My mind was ping-ponging around. 

“He likes you,” Eric said, pulling me from my thoughts. 

“Sorry?” 

“Bill. He has a thing for you.” Eric placed a large palm on my thigh. 

“Is that a punishable offense?” I smiled, turning off onto Little Bank Road. He squeezed my thigh giving me a look. “Feelin’ a little jealous, Eric?” 

“No,” he snorted. “Although, he seemed much more eager to meet you at the cabin when he realized I would be away.”

“Well, as nice as Mr. Compton is, I’m sure I can manage to keep it in my pants for the two weeks that you’re gone… Assuming you’re doing the same?” The words were out before I could barely consider them. I hadn’t even thought of that aspect until now. Huh. I guess Eric wasn’t the only one on edge.

He chuckled, his fingertips brushing along the seam of my jeans that ran the inside of my thigh. A prickle of pleasure traveled up my leg.

“I can assure you I will be keeping it in my pants until I see you again.” His fingers strayed dangerously higher. “But I also have every intention of writing while I’m back home, which presents another problem since you won’t be there. I’m not sure one picture will be enough inspiration…”

“Oh, you’re incorrigible!” I batted him in the stomach, feeling pleased with his admission. I didn’t like the thought of him being with someone else while we were together. 

When we got to my driveway entrance, I pulled on the parking brake and wound down the window to check the mailbox. I drew a breath and wrinkled my nose in disgust, it stunk like… death. The red letterbox lid slipped through my fingers, slamming shut with a clang.

“Sookie, look.” Eric grabbed my arm, pulling me back through the window.

Dark, limp shapes hung on the lowest boughs of all the aspens that shadowed the length of my driveway. Carcasses. I released the brake and drove at a crawl, white-knuckling the steering wheel. 

“What the hell…” I choked out, acid burned the back of my throat. 

One carcass for each tree. Rabbits, a deer, a couple of white snowshoe hares, even a wasted and rotting coyote. Eyes missing, entrails hanging. The black sockets that once housed its eyes seemed to follow us as we rolled past.

Horror roiled through me like a great crushing wave, plowing down any sense of optimism I’d held from earlier that morning. 

“They’re not fresh kills. The hares look like they’ve have been half eaten and pecked at,” Eric said. 

I opened the garage door and parked, a sob of relief rising when I heard Bonnie sniffing at the other side of the kitchen door, her tail thumping on the floor. She barked when I told her to wait.

I followed Eric outside and we examined the carcasses. They were definitely not fresh kills, the stench of rot permeating the crisp winter air. For them to smell they must have been dead a long while, before the frost, before the winter. Or they were kept somewhere out of the frigid cold and able to fester. 

We walked the perimeter in silence, finishing up around the lake side of the yard where Octavia and her coven had gathered that morning. 

“Are you seeing a theme here?” I asked. 

“Death, fear, a warning?” He replied after a moment.

“Well, yes, but that’s not what I mean,” I said. “Just look. The animals are positioned outside where the coven lay the salt this morning. It hasn’t crossed the boundary onto my yard.” 

“Except for there,” he said, long arm pointing to the limp remains of a rabbit resting on the thin layer of snow covering the grassy yard. 

“Oh.” My shoulders slumped. I hadn’t seen that. We walked to the small gray rabbit and crouched by it. It was little more than skin and bones. 

“It’s a message.” Eric picked up a small stick and turned over the tiny body as if a clue might emerge. “It’s telling you that it will respect the boundaries.” 

“But that it doesn’t have to,” I finished. 

The chirrup and rattling of a nearby woodpecker broke up the heavy stillness that was threatening to crush me. The birdsong was a strange, cheerful juxtaposition. 

Eric finally spoke. 

“I want you to teach me how to shoot.”


	18. Notebook of Revelations

Much to Bonnie’s dismay, she was forced to watch from the glass windows while Eric built up a bonfire in the yard and I hauled the carcasses in the wheelbarrow back and forth, tossing them in the flames. The ground was too frozen, otherwise we’d be digging. 

The smell was dreadful. A hot, burnt stench that clung the way bonfire smoke did but with the added cloying sickliness of rotten meat. With the last of the carcasses burning in their pyre, Eric left to take Bonnie for a short walk to his house so he could grab some fresh clothes. I ran myself a hot bath, but started with a quick shower first, hoping I could rid myself of the stench. It ended up meaning I needed to shampoo my hair multiple times. The smell of almonds and peaches soon overtook the stink and shock of the dead animals. 

I made Eric shower too before letting him join me in the bath. He slipped in behind me, all arms and legs, the tops of his bent knees poking out above the water either side of me. I hooked my hands around them. They were like musclebound pillars I could cling to. We lay quietly for a long while, lost in our own thoughts.

“What do you believe?” I asked, staring down over the tree tops to the lake. A half dozen white geese were slowly making their way across the water, triangular ripples blooming behind them as they went.

“You mean spiritually?” 

I made a noise of confirmation. He wrapped his arms around my waist and I let my head drop back to his shoulder. 

“That’s a tough question to answer. The Swedish… We’re a pragmatic people. We’re not particularly religious, even if we say so on paper. God and religion, they're not a concern for everyday life. It’s not something I’ve ever given a lot of thought to. But now…” 

“It’s hard not to think about it now.” 

“Yes... For me, it’s now a given that there is more to this world than science can explain. Or maybe it can be explained, we just lack the necessary tools or cognition to fully grasp it. It’s a pretty scary idea if you think about it.” 

“You’re telling me.” I let my hands slide under the water, so I could hug his arms against me. “You know, death used to be the pinnacle of fear for me. So final and awful. While I like the idea that my loved ones are in heaven watching down on me, the reality of leaving the real world behind, that whole process of dying - it’s terrifying. You’re here one minute and then the next you’ve left the mortal realm to go on this..." I searched for the right word. "Unknown voyage. I found it terrifying. But it pales now. My parameters for what constitutes as frightening has grown exponentially these last few weeks.” 

“There's comfort that can be found in death. It’s something we will all have in common with everyone alive today on earth, and with everyone who has ever lived. It’s the one thing humanity can eventually count on.” 

I chewed on that thought for a moment before speaking.

“I can appreciate that. Maybe now more than ever. Those missing girls - it’s been so long, and honestly, there’s no question that they’re dead. But that time from when they went missing to their eventual demise – that unknown chunk of time and space - that is what frightens me. So much potential there for horror. The idea there’s unknown beasts, human and otherwise, that lurk out there without our knowledge. They could be everywhere and we just don’t know. Probably right under our noses.” 

“Hell is empty and all the devils are here,” he quoted.

“Exactly.” I screwed up my nose trying to remember where I knew that quote. “That’s Shakespeare, right?” 

“The first line from _The Tempest_.” 

“Of course. I went to see it with some girlfriends back when I was at Tulane. A local theater put on performances every year at the park.” 

“You’re interested in that sort of thing?” he said with slight surprise.

“Gosh, don’t sound so shocked. I watched every performance they put on while I was there. They were fantastic.” 

“Aren’t you full of unknown depths.” Eric pressed a kiss on the top of my shoulder.

“Good lord, if you consider Shakespeare in the park unknown depths then I can only imagine what you must think I do with my free time. Country music, high school football games, and church bake sales?” I said it in my twangiest drawl. 

“You said you worked yourself practically to the bone, so I have zero pre-conceived notions,” he explained, laughing. “I just pictured you tearing apart the courtroom, terrifying your neighbors, and micromanaging every little aspect of your life.” 

“Ouch.” I elbowed him in the side. He sounded like he was only halfway joking. Not like I could take offense, he was pretty well spot-on.

“Then tell me. How does Sookie Stackhouse amuse herself?” 

“Well... I like going out for dinner, trying new places and new foods. I love old movies, especially anything with Cary Grant. I like live theater and musicals. I can’t say I’ve made a lot of time for my social life the last few years, but most of my free time was spent with my nephews, my brother, and his wife. I love being outdoors. Alcide was part of a biker club so we used to go on tours with the club if we had a free weekend together. Those were good. I played sport, not so much now, but I competed at the state level in volleyball back when I was an undergrad at LSU.”

“In those itty-bitty outfits?” 

“Yes, you perv. Gran was horrified but somehow never said a negative thing about it. Jason on the other hand…” I laughed to myself, remembering him clocking one of the spectators in the nose for ogling me at a game once. He all but forbade me from playing again after that. Not that I listened. I was good at the sport. I turned awkwardly to face Eric, “What about you? Tell me more about your life. How do you fill your free time? Tell me about your past relationships and all that.” 

Yes, I was fishing. I hoped subtly. Eric raised a brow at me. Okay, maybe not so subtly. I smiled sweetly at him.

“There’s really not a lot to tell. Before you, it’s been years since I’ve had anyone significant in my life. I play a bit of social basketball, keep multiple cafes afloat just with my coffee habit alone, I read a lot. I prefer to keep quiet. That can be an uphill battle in New York, especially when your closest friend is Pam, whose social life rivals most New York socialites. The publisher forces me to attend stuff too – benefits, openings for other authors; PR type events.” 

“Is that typical?” I never imagined authors having to do so much marketing and schmoozing. 

He shifted uneasily beneath me and turned his head to take in the view from the window. 

“Well, back when I was their golden child, yes. They liked to show me off. Not so much now.” He shrugged. “I’m looking forward to being released from my contract.” 

I traced a finger across the crease that had formed between his brows; he smiled and swiveled me completely around so we were facing closely chest to chest, still between his legs. 

“I’m the most significant girl in a while, huh?” I teased. A secret buzz shot excitement through me at the notion.

His blue eyes caught mine and burned with an emotion that consumed me completely. My breath hitched. 

“Oh, yes lover.” 

I straddled his lap so we were looking eye to eye. Warm water splashed down off my back. 

“I like that.” I placed a soft kiss to his jaw and worked my lips closer to his ear. “Call me that again,” I whispered. 

He murmured the endearment in my ear as his hands caressed their way down my back to cup my ass. I grinded against him, thrilled by the physical effect I had on him. 

“Again,” I breathed, our parts touching, tempting one another.

He called me lover once more, this time following it up with words and promises of acts that would have surely slayed me if he didn’t make good on them immediately.

“Take me to bed…” I said, practically begging. 

God bless that man for not making me ask twice. 

* * *

The next week passed in a gloriously peaceful way. We frittered the time away between making love, going for walks, and cooking. 

I set up my yard for target practice and taught him to use the shotgun. I think Eric was surprised by how much fun shooting was, and he was suitably impressed by my skill. I was a much better shot than him, but I’d been shooting since I was a little girl. I bought a casket style shotgun safe so I was able to stow the Benelli safely under the bed every night within reach. Thankfully, there had been zero reason to need the gun. The dead animal warning was never far from my thoughts, though.

Both of us experienced our first proper blizzard since our arrival to Lake Douglas, and it was no way near as worrying as I thought it might be. Having your own personal six-foot hot water bottle sharing the bed with you made the night pass much more easily and we spent the morning after it shoveling the driveway, building snowmen and playing with Bonnie.

His Christmas trip was looming closer and closer, though I found myself focusing more on the end of February when he would be leaving Lake Douglas for good. He would head back to New York City, probably without a second glance, finished manuscript in hand. I didn’t know how to feel about that.

Only in the cold light of pre-dawn, a time I still spent mostly awake, could I surrender my denial and accept that Eric had squirrelled his way into my heart. He was deeper than I thought I was capable of allowing someone so soon after losing Alcide – and in such a short space of time too. Regardless, our moments together were lighthearted. We steered away from any serious topics, emotionally and demon-related. Perhaps foolishly, it was easier to ignore those things when neither were issues staring us in the face. Eric, nor I, addressed the fact we would inevitably part ways, and other than the odd feeling of being watched, it seemed like all otherworldly creatures were leaving me alone. 

Eric was in good spirits, especially when it came to writing. He was proceeding at a great pace and I’d taken to lying on the couch with a wine in the evenings while he read his day’s work to me. For such a simple act, it was an incredibly intimate experience. I loved the lilt of his voice and the way it would draw me to a different place. I didn’t offer suggestions but occasionally asked questions regarding the plot or trying to uncover character motivations that would inevitably send him back to the laptop, burning up the keyboard. 

Despite everything, I couldn’t shake the feeling he was holding back when it came to me. Sometimes it would be in the way I’d catch him staring at me, in a troubled sort of way or like he was toying with a decision. Other times it was just a gut feeling. I gave him time in that regard, I figured whatever it was couldn’t affect us too badly given the time constraints of our relationship. And honestly, I had to hold myself back too. We were effectively living together, at least in the short term, and the winter-wonderland vacation vibe only seemed to multiply the effects of our honeymoon phase. 

Over the course of the week, I’d spent three more days working with Tara at the station and a couple mornings. I had completed the large poster boards and timelines for the walls of the conference room, so Tara set me to task transcribing some of the new interviews. 

Sadly her suspect in Utah was a bust, he lawyered up and his counsel submitted evidence from the trucker’s ex-employer. It proved he was out of state working during the dates three of the four girls went missing. The fourth date, when the youngest girl Sarah went missing, he was being held in a Utah county lockup working off a hangover. 

Tara was becoming dogged in her efforts, and the shadowy rings under her eyes growing darker every time I saw her. I had to wonder how much the pressure was affecting her. I rode along for a couple more interviews before bowing out. They were too intense and affecting me too much mentally. Tara had to unload onto me emotionally after every interview too. I practically begged Kenya to step in and the policewoman actually smiled and told me she’d make sure Tara could debrief properly. I think Kenya was secretly pleased I couldn’t hack it. She happily palmed off some of her simple admin work to me in trade. 

It was the day before Eric’s departure and a handful of days away from Christmas. I was back at the station finishing up with some loose ends before things wrapped up for the Christmas break. I had to escape the house earlier in the morning, Eric was tense about leaving, I was tense; we were beginning to snip at each other. Neither of us wanted to say goodbye to the other and I was still annoyed at the prospect of leaving my home for two whole weeks.

Amelia and I were to meet for lunch at her place that day in Chester. I was shifting in with her the next day, and I suspected the lunch was her attempt at winning me over. I stopped by Russell Edgington's workshop to pick up Eric's Christmas gift before heading over to Amelia's. She opened the door with a bright grin and wrapped me in a tight hug. Oh, brother. Despite her hyper-exuberance, I begrudgingly found myself warming to her. She was always in such high spirits, she approached everything with enthusiasm and it was infectious. 

“If it’s worth doing then it’s worth overdoing!” she exclaimed, when I boggled out at her unit. It was absolutely covered with Christmas decorations to within an inch of its life. I actually kind of loved it. Christmas had been decidedly un-festive the year before, so being surrounded by fairy lights, tinsel and the smell of fresh pine from the enormous tree brought back the tingle of excited anticipation that only Christmas could. I left her place feeling better about moving in with her temporarily. Christmas cheer had been lacking the last few years, even when Alcide was around. Getting caught up in it was fun - if unexpected.

Back at the station, I barely had a minute to sit before Tara strode into the conference room. 

“That Bill Compton is a weird one,” she said. Tara was dressed in full uniform, badge on display, with her dark curly hair pulled into a tight, uncompromising bun on top of her head.

“Weird?” I asked, looking up from the pile of papers I was organizing. “Eric would probably agree with you, but I thought he was sweet.” 

Tara dropped down onto the office chair opposite me. 

“That’s cause you’re both Southern - of course you like him. A solidarity thing. But he’s so damn serious all the time. Like someone’s died or he’s just come from a funeral.” Her eyes widened when I pulled a face. “Sorry. But it’s true.” 

“Did you know he’s worked for the parks service for nearly twenty years?" I said. "Do you ever remember him?” 

“That’s the other thing. He’s been here so long and it’s like nobody has ever really got to know him. I’ve seen him here and there over the years. Remember that time he gave us a ride back to town when Maudette hosted that kegger at the lake? He broke up the party and then weirdly offered just the two of us a ride home before police arrived.” 

“Of course,” I gasped, the memory flooding back. “I completely forgot! I _knew_ I’d met him somewhere.” 

“I’m not surprised you forgot. You were halfway crunk, Sook. You spent the whole time babbling on about Southern cooking and barely letting him get a word in edgewise.”

I felt myself redden. Teenage Sookie was no good at holding liquor.

“I wonder why he didn’t mention it?” 

“Cause he’s a creep? Or, do you think…” Her voice trailed off. She tapped her palms with a sudden excitement against the table. “Maybe he didn’t remind you because he knew you were assisting with the investigation, so he didn’t want to raise any alarm bells.” 

I stopped fussing over the paperwork and watched as she grew animated, hands gesturing in wild circles as she spoke. 

“He’s been part of the community for decades now. A position of authority in the parks service. He keeps to himself. White male. He was in his twenties at the time, well, very early twenties, but he worked in the area. It all fits.” She jumped to her feet and began pacing the length of the room.

“Tara…” I cautioned. 

“This is textbook stuff, Sookie. Serial killer profile 101. He picked up the two of us and drove us home that night. It shows he is out late driving the streets, is happy to collect innocent girls. And those girls all went missing in the evening. Quick – pass me that map.”

“He didn’t try anything weird or handsy when we were with him,” I said, pushing the map of Lake Douglas, both town and lake, towards her. “And how accurate is that profiling stuff, really?” 

“He is creepy. You can’t honestly say he’s not!” She focused on the map, grabbing a marker off the table and carefully marking dots on the map. 

“He isn't creepy. He is quiet and reserved. You're just too used to having a show pony for a husband. That doesn't mean every quiet man is a creep. It wasn't like he was coming onto us.”

“I'm not saying he's a murderer. But I'm not going to ignore this. He ticks too many boxes. Look.” She pushed the map back towards me, her brown eyes large with revelation. “Those are the places the girls were all last seen. Those points are all within a block or two of the main route you need to take through town when leaving the park to head out to the highway.”

“Shit…” I breathed. She was right. “Still, this doesn’t necessarily mean it's him.” 

“No, but it means I need to dig up everything I can on Mr. Bill Compton.”

“You know, I can’t actually recall seeing anything about Bud questioning him.” 

I pulled the cardboard folio box that was closest to me. It was the file for Katie Bellefleur. I lifted the lid off and stood to my feet, carefully working my way through the papers trying to find any mention of Bud interviewing the park rangers. Tara did the same, bringing over the box marked ‘Jade Knight’ and withdrawing a small black notebook filled with Bud’s notes. She sat back down and started scrutinizing each page.

“You know the park keeps a record of visitors entering and leaving the park. You’re required to sign in and have your park pass checked when you pass the station,” Kenya’s voice drew our attention from our searching. She stood, leaning against the door jamb, holding a cup of coffee. “The victims all disappeared during summer. Lake Douglas is at its busiest then.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re trying to defend Compton too,” Tara huffed.

“Just stating the obvious, Sheriff,” Kenya said with her characteristic coolness. 

“If the park still has a record of people coming and going we can cross reference the visitors for the week of every disappearance. See if there’s anything that stands out,” I said. 

Tara closed the notebook with a commanding snap. “You beat me to it. I’ll call Sam and see what their record keeping skills are like.” 

She left the room and I picked up the black notebook she’d left behind. Kenya filled Tara’s vacated seat and directed her efforts towards another folio box. 

“Busy day?” I asked, hoping to break the ice yet again with the stony faced cop. 

“Mmhmm,” she drawled, not looking up from her searching. I sighed and returned to the notebook. If this brick wall of a woman couldn’t play nice then I guess I’d have to settle for mutual silence. 

The pages of Bud’s notebook were thin and stiffly crinkled by the firmly pressed scrawl of his handwriting. The book was a random collection of notes and abbreviations, scribbles, illegible writings circled or underlined from his investigations in the months after Jade Knight disappeared, once he’d finally started taking notice. There was no organization to his thinking process or note-taking. A lot of it seemed like a stream of consciousness dribble. 

Two-thirds of the way through, I found a reference to the national park. An underlined NPS, the acronym for National Parks Service, followed by ‘A. Stanton: alibi, nothing suspicious seen. B. Compton: alibi, flit.’

Atticus Stanton was the old park ranger supervisor. I strongly doubted he was still alive, he was old as dirt back when I was still a little girl. But the reference to Bill. _Alibi, flit _. I wondered what it meant? In my gut, I had a feeling he wasn’t responsible. But maybe Tara was right and I was simply biased. I saw him as a good Southern gentleman and so I was falsely discounting him as a suspect. I tagged the page with a sticky plastic page marker.__

__But Bud seemed satisfied with his alibi, which was encouraging. Sort-of. This was Bud, after all. Either way, I was sure Tara would confirm it just fine on her own. Too bad Bud couldn’t have had the gumption to actually record his conversations properly to save her the hassle. A thorough investigation from a sober sheriff twenty years ago could have solved this much sooner. Perhaps immediately. The outcome could have been so much different. If Jade’s disappearance was treated as suspicious from the outset then maybe she would be here today and the other girls would never have been taken. I pictured a cold dark basement with police busting in, rescuing the young girl shackled to a wall. I shivered._ _

__“I wonder how long they were alive for after they were taken,” I said, unable to focus on the book any longer._ _

__“How long they were _kept alive for, you mean?” Kenya said, not bothering to raise her head from the page.__ _

___I nodded, disturbed by the connotation the word ‘kept’ carried with it. Kenya placed her finger on the page marking the spot she was reading and pinned me down by the strength of her stare._ _ _

___“I wonder how many victims of kidnap are being held right now? At this moment. In this state. In this country.” Her dark features flashed with irritation, no doubt directed at me. “I wonder when they last saw sunlight? I wonder what they are thinking about right now? If they have a shred of hope or if they are so consumed with getting by moment-to-moment that they can’t comprehend an existence other than the one they’re living?”_ _ _

___I blinked back the tears that gathered in my eyes._ _ _

___“Shit. Kenya,“ I began._ _ _

___“No.” She cut me off. “It’s easy to get caught up in the what-ifs. But what a waste. It serves no one and nothing other than our own misplaced sense of compassion. If something needs to be done - do it. If someone needs help - help them. Don’t waste precious mental energy on contemplating the fates of those far worse off than us. It helps no one. We find those girls and the bastard - or bastards - that did this then you will get you your chance to have all the answers you never really wanted.”_ _ _

___She looked back down to her page, lifted her finger and continued reading as if we never spoke. I swallowed thickly and closed Bud’s notebook. Damn, Kenya really cut to the quick._ _ _

___I stared at the walls, now clad with my organized timelines and information on each of the girls. What was I doing here? How was I equipped to help with this? The four blown up pictures of the girls seemed to mock me. Mock my efforts._ _ _

___“You’ve done good work, Sookie.” Kenya said, startling me from my pity party. It made me jump._ _ _

___“You think?” I asked. “I don’t know if I’ve done anything at all.”_ _ _

___“Tara has been more focused since you’ve been here. She was floundering before you arrived. She never flounders. She was doubting herself and now she isn’t.”_ _ _

___I nodded to her in thanks. I left the room and Kenya to her own devices. Slipping quietly into Tara’s office, I settled onto the seat in front of her desk. She was still on the phone to Sam, absorbed by something on her laptop screen. She grimaced strangely at me when she noticed my presence._ _ _

___I focused on the framed pictures on the wall behind her while she finished up her conversation with Sam. There were four wooden frames in total, hung side by side along the back wall. One was an image of her being sworn in as sheriff, another a picture of her in black tactical gear doing target practice – probably from her Academy days, then one of her in the white Taekwondo uniform with her hard earned black and gold embroidered belt tied tightly around her waist, and finally, one with all four deputies proudly surrounding Tara standing out the front of the station. She hadn’t even smiled that wide on her wedding day._ _ _

___Tara was full of strength and spirit. I was lucky to count her as a friend. Douglas was damn lucky that they had her to sort out the shit Bud Dearborn left in his drunken wake. She would succeed where he, and the successors that were elected in the time between Bud and Tara, had failed._ _ _

___“Do they have the records?” I asked as soon as she placed the receiver slowly back into its cradle._ _ _

___“Yes, he thinks so. They’ve been stored in the attic of the ranger station so he’s going to have a look and get back to me.” She cleared her throat and smoothed the slim black tie against her beige shirt._ _ _

___“What? What’s wrong?”_ _ _

___“Sookie, how much do you know about Eric?”_ _ _

___I blinked, thrown by her sudden change of subject._ _ _

___“What do you mean? Is this about Bill? Honestly, Tara… I’m willing to concede my judgment of Bill might be a little biased due to some Louisiana-seasoned homesickness, but I don’t think you need to worry about my judgment as far as it extends to Eric. You know, Bud seemed to think Bill had an alibi for Jade’s disappearance.” I lifted the notebook from my lap and waggled it._ _ _

___“I’m not talking about Bill, hon. I was asking how much Eric has shared about himself.” Her expression was odd. She knew something._ _ _

___I lowered my hands back slowly to my lap, a foreboding tingling taking residence at the base of my skull._ _ _

___“Tell me what you know.”_ _ _

___She turned the laptop so I could see. It was a picture of Eric, clean shaven and dressed neatly in a black suit standing beside a lithe, attractive woman. She was dressed in a vintage ivory gown with a feather and lace birdcage-style fascinator pinned into her sleek and coiled auburn up-do. He was smiling at the camera and she was grinning like the cat who got the cream._ _ _

___“Did he tell you he’s married?” she asked softly._ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter up in the next 1-2 days. Hate to leave you on a cliffy.


	19. Discovery Process

I shook my head slowly. No, he most certainly hadn’t told me he was married. I couldn’t drag my eyes away. It was a wedding portrait, taken outside on what looked to be the steps of New York City hall. 

“Where did you find this?” I asked. It had taken me a few minutes to find my voice. 

“Sam told me to look him up. He wondered if you knew.” 

“Sam?” I asked vaguely, scooching my seat closer. I turned the device so it better faced me. The picture was part of a 2012 write up in the New York Times wedding section titled _Saying Yes to a New Chapter_. 

'Successful Peregrine Publishing editor, Freyda Lambert, marries best-selling Swedish author, Eric Northman, in sedate City Hall ceremony full of grace and style.' 

“Maybe he’s divorced?” Tara asked, her tone appeasing. 

“Then why wouldn’t he tell me he was divorced?” I gritted out, still reading. 

I opened a new tab and searched both their names together. I got multiple hits from society pages. They’d been photographed at a handful of publishing and book related events, although there was nothing that I could see over the last year or so. 

I hardly remembered packing up my things and leaving the station. Tara swore up and down she would rough him up for me, although I knew it was the friend in her talking, not the sheriff. She enveloped me in a big hug before I left in a daze. 

I wandered down through to the main street, past my car, hugging my laptop bag to my chest. I bought an oliebollen and sat down on the bench outside the bakery. I picked at the freshly cooked dough. The town was as busy as it would get for this time of year, folk out and about readying themselves for Christmas celebrations. It all passed in a blur. Eric was probably at home waiting for me to return. We had been texting on and off all day. Our plans were to spend our last night at his place before he went home for Christmas. 

It hit me like a freight train. He was going home to his wife. 

That rat bastard! 

I took a final bite of the doughnut before tossing it in the bin and stalked back to my truck, starting it with a roar. That absolute go-for-nothing, scheming bastard. I was going to hang his ass out to dry. I pressed my foot to the gas, confidently taking the turns back along Little Bank Road. And then when his ass dried I was going to kick the hell out of it. The nerve of him! Making me the other woman!

I parked in the garage and let myself in through the kitchen door. Bonnie trotted over and snuffled her wet nose against my hand. I dumped my laptop bag and purse on the kitchen bench and wandered through into the living area. Eric was nowhere to be seen. I called out but received no answer.

Adrenaline and anger pounded through me like wild floodwaters. I flexed and released my hands and slumped down into my old corduroy armchair. 

I forced in some large breaths, trying to slow that raging river inside of me. There was no use confronting him full of ire. I needed answers. If I confronted him now it would result in a yelling match. 

Calm yourself, Sookie. Get your courtroom game face on. Don’t let your emotional entanglement get in the way of reason and logic. Treat this like a case… A complex one that involves romance and copious amounts of amazing sex. 

I felt the anger begin to ebb. I could be rational. I could approach this properly. I clenched my fists. My God, I just wanted to scream at him until I was hoarse. How dare he? I liked him so much, we seemed to click so well and all along he was really just an ass. A deep, twisty feeling dug itself into my chest; a screw into a wine cork. I felt myself emotions slipping. I ran my fingers through my hair, tugging at the roots. 

Deep breath, Sookie. No tears. Focus. 

I had to approach this like a case. Like I was preparing for court. Detach myself emotionally and question my assumptions. I could even go further back to my college days where I relied on the IRAC method for law exam questions. Issue. Rule. Analysis. Conclusion. 

Issue... Eric and I had a thing. We were a romantic item. I had discovered evidence to suggest he was married. Strong, irrefutable evidence. 

Rule... Adultery was wrong. Morally, ethically, religiously, and even legally. He’d also kept a big part of himself from me while I had opened up like a stupid, trusting clam. The attraction had come so easily with us, the feelings felt so natural – so revealing myself, warts and all, had been easy and relieving. Obviously, it didn’t go both ways. I was such an idiot! Argh. And I had _known_ … I’d felt some deep intuition he was holding something back. Why didn’t I trust my gut?

Analysis... He could no longer be married. He wore no wedding ring. I’d admired his hands closely during a bath we’d shared a couple nights earlier. I definitely would have noticed the faded tan lines of a missing wedding ring. Still, he had been keeping a huge secret – a huge part of himself – from me and that was unconscionable. It was… I struggled to identify the feelings inside me. Ashamed at my foolishness. Betrayed. Hurt. Heartbroken. 

No, stop. I scolded myself. No emotions.

Conclusion… ?

I stared at the licking flames in the fireplace. During the renovations, I’d splashed out and chosen a fancy German designed wood heater to be built into the old open fireplace. It was a smooth and modern looking model in brushed black steel. It needed nearly half as much fuel as any regular open fireplace and pumped out ridiculous amounts of heat. I’d spent weeks poring over catalogues and reading reviews before choosing it. I loved it. 

I sniffed and wiped the tears from my cheeks onto the sleeve of my loose knit sweater. 

I missed Alcide more than I had in months. He was so black and white. He wasn’t a deep thinker or a philosopher. I could barely recall a single deep conversation we’d ever shared. We talked about the day to day, about what people were doing and things that were happening in our lives. No politics, no debating of big issues or on the meaning of life. It was all surface stuff, but it was comfortable and familiar. I knew what to expect with him. It was so different to the late nights spent wrapped in Eric’s arms talking about everything under the sun. 

And Alcide was unashamed of who he was. What you saw was what you got. You could always count on him for that. 

...Was I being unfair? Yes. I groaned inwardly. It was unfair to miss your dead spouse simply because another man had hurt you. It was unfair to compare a living man with a man who had died and was so easy to remember fondly, for that reason. Alcide had his flaws too. I sighed.

“Sorry Alcide,” I said softly, hugging my knees to my chest. 

“You’re home already? I was in the woodshed splitting more logs.” Eric said, letting himself in through the front door. He was dressed in a flannel shirt, vest and beanie just like the day I’d first met him on the driveway. He brushed his boots against the mat and sat down on the couch across from me to unlace them. He did a double take when he saw me. “What’s wrong?” 

I set my feet on the floor and sat up straight, clearing my throat. 

“I have some questions to ask you and you are going to answer me truthfully. No BS.” 

He nodded slowly and set the second boot neatly next to where he took off the first one.  
“Okay.” He seemed confused rather than suspicious or defensive. 

“Are you married?” 

He froze still like a rabbit caught in the gaze of a predator. 

“No. But I suppose you found out I once was.” 

The twisty feeling in my chest lessened by degrees. He wasn’t a philanderer. He was just a secret-keeping butthead. 

“Were you single when you came to Lake Douglas?”

“Yes.” 

“When did you divorce?” 

“We married in early 2011 and divorced in August 2013.” That meant they’d been divorced for over three years now. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? When I…” My voice cracked. “When I told you everything about my past. I even asked you about past relationships and you said there’d been no one significant for years. All the stories you’ve told me about your life and you never mentioned her once.” 

His gaze dropped and he raked a hand through his hair, seemingly steeling himself. 

“It wasn’t a conventional marriage.” 

“Elaborate.” I folded my arms across my chest, hoping I appeared calm and collected rather than tear-stained and wounded. 

“We weren’t in a relationship. We weren’t in love. She, Freyda, was an acquisitions editor for Peregrine Books. She got The Peace Receiver published and negotiated to get me on for the multi-book contract. Now she’s clawed her way to the role of editorial director with one of Peregrine’s biggest imprints, Sawtooth Press. 

“The marriage was her idea. A mutual back-scratch, she called it.” He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “The publishing industry is cutthroat, and it’s been in a state of upheaval with digital publishing and self-publishing becoming popular. No one knows which way is up anymore. Jobs are becoming streamlined, highly competitive and scarce. She was frustrated with her inability to climb the corporate ladder and wanted to be noticed and... I had just come off the back of another bestseller. I was making waves and she wanted to catch a ride. So we married. I was dragged to every event imaginable, name dropped with abandon, and I exhausted every contact to help her get noticed.”

I frowned. “Why did you need to be married to help her with that?” 

“We didn’t,” he sighed. “But I needed to be married if I wanted to stay in America.” 

My mouth opened wordlessly in surprise. 

“I tried to get in on a work visa,” he explained, lips twisting ruefully at my reaction. “But I was knocked back. Long story, but the publisher couldn’t sponsor me and because my work could technically be done anywhere… It wasn’t enough to qualify for a green card, especially so early in my career. And I liked it here. Like it here. Living and working in America is exciting. I loved the pace of New York and had been traveling back and forth on a tourist visa between Stockholm. 

“I’d just been rejected for an EB1 green card - the one for people working in arts - and I’d had my heart set on a brownstone which had just be listed. Not getting the visa was a big blow for me. Freyda knew this. Used it to her advantage. She put an offer on the townhouse and came to me with her deal. We’d marry for three years, long enough for me to apply for citizenship, I would foot the deposit and mortgage and eventually, the deed would be put into just my name, though we’d live separate lives – in return I had to help her too.” 

My mind was reeling. He was bribed into a green card marriage? Maybe not a bribe. He got something out of it too.

“Did you have any sort of romantic relationship?” 

“We slept together twice after _The Peace Receiver_ was first published…” He sighed. “Yes, you don’t need to give me that look. I heard it all from Pam - I know it was a terrible idea. Freyda had a thing for me for a long time and I - I should have been more firm with her. I didn’t think the marriage was anything to do with that.” He grimaced. “Apparently it was, at least a little bit. It quickly went to shit. She was possessive, jealous and ended up moving into the spare room at my place, despite my protests. She was meant to live in her place. I could barely stand the sight of her. Still can’t. Two years later we divorced. It means I now have permanent residency, but I have to wait a few more years before I qualify for citizenship.”

“I don’t get it. I don’t get why you couldn’t just tell me? I saw that feature on your wedding in The New York Times. I thought I was the other woman. God, I felt – feel – so foolish.” 

He moved himself to the end of the couch closest to where I was sitting and tried to take my hand. I slipped it from his grasp with a firm shake of my head. I needed facts, not to be emotionally implored. 

“I was going to tell you when I got back from New York. I know I fucked up not telling you immediately. My feelings for you and knowing I was holding back… I like you Sookie. I really like you. But you are pretty terrifying.”

He held up his hand to cut off my incoming retort. 

“You are bold and strong. You view the world through the lens of what’s right and wrong, and you hold yourself and everyone around you to those standards. It’s hard to stand next to you, be viewed with that kind of scrutiny when I know I’m not completely deserving of it. I should have told you straight away in the beginning; ripped the band-aid off. But I’m a coward. I liked you.” 

He looked ashamed, shoulders slumped. 

“You can’t know I would’ve thought less of you…” I said, my anger finally deflating. 

“Sookie, the law is your business. Your best friend is the sheriff. You are a widow. The way you speak of marriage, yours and your grandparents, I know you value the institution. What I did was illegal. I defrauded the government in order to gain citizenship. I realize not everyone marries for love, but that is the only allowable reason for marriage if you want to immigrate to the US. You can’t say that wouldn’t have affected your opinion of me.” 

“So, what? You didn’t tell me in order to manipulate my feelings for you? So that I would like you better?”

“No, that’s not it. When I first met you, I knew I liked you, but I didn’t realize what the depth of my feelings would be.” He studied his clasped hands as he spoke. “You’re a curve ball, Sookie. You socked me when I wasn’t expecting it. I thought maybe I could win you over and we’d have a brief fling. Then you kissed me and I realized a fling wouldn’t cut it. Not with you. I’d take everything and anything you’d be willing to give and still want more. I was trying to find the right time to explain, hoping it would mean nothing but knowing it could change everything.” 

 

He looked up at me and I swallowed hard. He was right. I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear this. 

“When I get back to New York I’m meeting with Freyda’s lawyer to finish up with the house. She’s been dragging this shit out for years now. She had promised to transfer the deed into my name when we married, instead she put it in both our names and has been refusing to give it up to me. I’ve let sleeping dogs lie after the divorce, but now… I’m done with it. So done. She can have the fucking house. I’ll manage even with any equity I lose in signing over my half. The plan was to deal with Freyda and her horseshit for good, then come back and tell you. Regardless of what that would mean for us.” 

“Is that what that phone call was about when we visited Sam and Bill last week?” 

He nodded. We stared at each other, a long minute passing as he looked more and more doleful with every moment. He was waiting for a response. 

“I’m going to Amelia’s tonight. And honestly? I don’t know what to think, Eric. Please don’t contact me until you’re back in town.” 

I stood and went upstairs to grab my bags and finish with the last of my packing. Eric was wise enough not to follow. I waited until I heard the front door clunk shut before I laid down on the bed. 

I stared at a cloud-shaped whorl in the timber beam above my bed. I wasn’t confused anymore. I was angry and frustrated that he’d kept something from me. I was also frustrated that he was right. If he had told me before we kissed I don’t think I would have given him proper a chance. Given my heart a chance. And he was in there, alright, stuck right in there deep.


	20. Regrets, Young and Old

"Do you want me to call him an asshole?"

"Yes."

"Well, then he's an asshole." Amelia said it as she clinked her glass tumbler against mine.

She'd had been surprised to see me show up on her doorstep, one day early and with my bottle of emergency gin in hand. I was pretty sure I had a grasp of her personality from what I'd seen so far - and I also remembered what my early 20s were like. I figured for Amelia Broadway, any excuse was a good excuse for girl talk and booze. And I was right.

We were sitting on the red shag rug in her living room with the bottle of gin, club soda, bowl of lemon wedges, and a tin of half-eaten chocolate dipped Christmas shortbread. The sun had set some time earlier and neither of us had bothered turning on the main lights. The flashing of the multicolored Christmas lighting strung up across the room and tree gave the room a cozy and festive mood. Bonnie had claimed the couch since our arrival and was content sleeping the evening away. Eric must have taken her on a long walk while I was at the station.

"Do you want to know what I really think, though?" Amelia asked.

"Nope," I said with a pop. "I rather keeping drinking and bitching about how all men are assholes."

"You can say that again," she agreed with a snort, staring at her phone. "Look at this shit!" She held her cell up and a picture of an erect penis flashed in front of me, a timer counting down in the corner.

"Oh, God!" I covered my eyes, laughing. "Who is that?"

"Bob Can't-take-a-freaking-hint Jessup. He's my kind-of ex."

"What's a kind-of ex?"

"We have a thing going on back home." She pulled a face while shaking her head at the screen, typing something. "He's the one that's done most of the chasing, though. I tried to explain that I needed to be free while I was here, but he's convinced that sending me dick pics on Snapchat will keep me satisfied."

"Holy cow, are unsolicited dick pics normal for guys your age? I'm so thankful I was born in a different generation." The words were choked out between my rowdy laughs.

She held up her phone again showing me a new snap, this time a selfie of a young, dark haired man with the cartoon dog filter photo-shopped on his face.

"That's a reasonable follow-up after a picture of his penis, right?" We began giggling all over again.

"I think you need to be straight with him. Give Mr. Dick Pic the flick."

"And _I_ think he's an idiot, but I don't think he's an asshole," Amelia said pointedly. I gathered she wasn't talking about Bob anymore. "He's helped you hasn't he? Stayed with you despite legitimately freaking fucking things happening at your house?"

"Yes…"

"Hasn't asked for anything in return?"

"No."

"He's admitted he has feelings for you."

"Well, yes, but that doesn't detract from what he did, or didn't do, rather."

"And what did you call the sex before?"

"Mind blowing." I pulled out the lemon wedge from my glass and sucked on it.

"Damn, remind me to ask you more about that later. He's also fucking hot."

"Tell me about it," I said, a little regretfully. "Being with him sometimes feels like punching above my weight."

"Oh, please. Don't bother selling yourself short, you have an amazing rack and an ass that won't quit."

"Sure, just gloss right over my sharp intellect, great wit, and skilled …skills why don't you?" I had definitely crossed the line from tipsy into drunk territory.

"Alright, alright. Those things too. I just think you need to remember you both met under freaky circumstances. You skipped all the normal relationshippy get-to-know-you stuff. You gotta expect there might be hiccups."

"Some hiccup."

"So what? So he married someone – years ago, mind you – for slightly less than honorable reasons. Big deal. Sounds like that bitch made him suffer enough."

I grimaced throwing back the rest of my drink with one mouthful. "It's not that."

"Really?" Amelia tilted her head doubtfully, her dark brows rising.

"Yes, really. I hate being left in the dark and I _hate_ being blindsided. I don't care about the marriage. At least I don't think I care…" I sighed. "I guess, he's right. Maybe I woulda judged him in the early days if he'd told me. I had a pretty poor opinion of him when we first met, after all. But the crux of the issue is that he didn't tell me at all and instead I had to find out through my best friend – the town sheriff, no less."

Amelia refilled my glass as I spoke and handed it back to me. I smiled in thanks and continued, "I walked in there expecting him to confess that he was running out on his wife with me. Turns out he thinks I'm too high-strung and judgmental to hear the truth - which wasn't nearly as bad as an affair! I just fixated on the fact he was deliberately hiding stuff from me and told him where to go." I groaned in frustration, staring into my glass. "God, I'm such a mess. My head is a mess."

How the fuck was I meant to even conduct a normal relationship post-Alcide? I was so out of touch with this all. Walking through a quagmire.

"Alright, then give yourself some time to cool off; give him some time to really feel like an oaf for not saying something sooner and then when he gets back you two can fuck and make up."

I laughed at her vulgar choice of words and pulled my phone from my purse as I felt it vibrate. The notification light flashed brightly.

"Oh, no you don't." She swiped it from my hand. "You're one too many gins past being safe to handle that thing." She unlocked it and read the message. "He said he left your Christmas present under the tree and he slid his house key under your front door."

"Fucker!" Was that it then? He was giving up, giving back my key? See you later, Sookie, it was fun while it lasted?

Amelia rolled her eyes. "It also says he'll miss you and is here for you if you need anything."

* * * 

Every morning over the next three days, I found myself waking up to an empty condo, Amelia leaving early to make the drive up the mountain to work. I'd taken to cleaning the condo for her, but there was little to do. She seemed to take after me when it came to keeping everything neat as a pin. She was thrilled to have a new roomie and I was surprised to find we were quickly becoming good friends.

Her intensity was wearing though, and so I was pleased to have the day to myself, spending my evenings with Amelia was taking it out of me. Somehow that girl was an energizer bunny, even after spending a full day on the slopes working. The last two nights, she'd dragged me to a local gym in downtown Chester for a body destroying high-intensity interval class that was a mix of cardio and weights.

I could barely move from lying to sitting when I woke up the third day.

It was a clear morning as I made the drive up to my cabin and I'd just got done fielding an awkward phone call from Tara. I'd conveniently missed her calls the last two nights but I knew she would demand answers regarding Eric. I tried my hardest to be evasive, telling her he was definitely divorced and there was still some property disputes with him and his ex, but I knew she knew there was more to it than that. It was the most I was willing to tell, honestly. His permanent residency could still be revoked. Eric might see me as morally black and white but as far as I was concerned the legitimacy of his marriage was none of my business.

I pushed all Eric related thoughts into a lock box and stuffed them into a dark corner of my mind. He would be back soon enough and I just wanted to get on with things, rather than moon over our issues. Pfft. Easier said than done, though. I tried to keep myself busy those first few days he was gone, I even had another therapy appointment, where the topic consisted mostly of past and current relationships. Trying not to think about Eric was like trying not to cough while coping with the world's worst tickle in your throat. It was inevitable.

Bill was already waiting for me when I arrived at the cabin. He was sitting in his work SUV and hopped out to greet me, a duffel bag in hand. He was looking clean and pressed, his hair smooth, not a strand out of place. I let him into the cabin and turned the ducted heating on full blast while I brewed us a fresh pot of coffee. Bonnie trotted around the house happily reacquainting herself with all her favorite scents.

"You've been away?" he asked, as he set up a small external mic as well as a digital camera onto a tripod beside my dining table.

"Just staying with a friend in Chester," I said, setting down Gran's ornate silver serving tray on the dining table. Bill smiled at it appreciatively which pleased me to no end. I poured us a cup each, apologizing for the lack of milk and creamer due to having emptied my fridge days earlier, but he waved a hand dismissively.

"That's quite alright. I'm not fussed as long as there is sugar. Although given the present delightful company, I'm sure it will be sweet enough as it is."

I laughed sweetly. Nothing like a nicely put compliment to raise a girl's self-esteem. So maybe he did have a little thing for me, but it felt innocent.

Tara had told me on the phone that morning that from the park records she and Sam had recovered that there was no obvious connection between visitors in and out of the park the week of each of the disappearances, although that didn't mean much, really.

Car loads of people came and went throughout the day during summer and many had surely slipped through without signing in, she told me, and those who did sign the register often didn't list the full party they were traveling with. To make it even trickier, in summer many of the same people were coming and going every day bloating the sign-in books with repeated signatures. It was a frustrating load of information, like looking for a needle in a haystack that you weren't even sure was there. Tara did glibly point out that Bill had been working on each of the days that the girls went missing.

Bill took his role as park historian seriously. He spent many minutes carefully positioning me so the camera would catch a view of the lake from behind my shoulder. He began the recording by stating who, what, when and where he was interviewing and then, using a binder to prompt and guide the conversation, he asked me carefully worded and considered questions about my childhood at Lake Douglas, as well as my family's continued history with the area. He remained silent while I thought over my answers and responded. I had two albums of photographs, one filled with photos from my childhood vacations spent on the lake and another Gran had collected from her summers at the cabin before and after Daddy and Aunt Linda were born. Bill flicked through the albums as I spoke, asking about certain pictures and jotting down a list of pictures he'd like me to scan and email him.

I shared some memories of Fourth of July celebrations which were always a big deal here. A large bonfire on the lake shore and cookouts. I told him of the time Jason and I had camped down near shore when I was 9 and he was 12. We'd spent the night terrified, listening as something sniffed its way around camp. We were sure it was a roaming black bear, they weren't uncommon in the region, so when Jason finally got the guts to stick his head out of the tent, armed with only his BB rifle, his laughter was enough to scare off the startled baby mule deer, who took off with a cry toward its mother.

The whole experience took over two hours, with me recounting multiple different anecdotes. It was fun reliving the past. I'd been blessed with a happy childhood at Lake Douglas, even amongst the traumas I experienced growing up.

"I'm visiting the sheriff this afternoon at the station for questioning regarding the missing girls," Bill shared when I asked him about his plans for the rest of the day. "As you are well aware, the sheriff is questioning many people who were in Lake Douglas and the town during that time period." He didn't look up as he spoke, carefully stowing away the equipment back into their corresponding bags and cases. I'd known of course that Tara had arranged to question him that afternoon, but I used my question as a convenient segue.

"Do you remember much about that time?"

His hand stilled from its task of zipping up his duffel bag.

"Their disappearances deeply affected the community. That mark is still felt here today." He cleared his throat and looked up. "I believe Sheriff Dearborn to be negligent in his initial apathetic approach."

"Tara suspects there is some connection between the girls and the park." I was steering into dangerous territory… Overstepping my mark. Tara would tan my hide if she knew what I was doing.

"She may very well be right."

I searched his face for clues, anything that would expose or belie Tara's suspicions. All I saw was a careful mask of grim concession.

"Do you remember anything or anyone suspicious from those particular summers?"

"That is difficult to answer. Once you begin questioning people's motives and behavior suddenly everything they do appears suspicious." His usual calm brown eyes and placid expression left me feeling unexpectedly chilled.

I washed the mugs and french press after Bill left, eyeing the tree line warily. I was very aware of the fact I was home alone for the first time in weeks. Thankfully my demonic creeper seemed to no longer be lurking. I was hopeful it was one ordeal I could well and truly wash my hands of. As for Bill… Maybe there was something there to be wary of. Eric's revelation had left me topsy-turvy. I didn't know if I could trust my judgment anymore. Sure, I trusted Bill enough to spend the morning alone with him, but people knew I was here, and he was on official business. I didn't think I was in any danger in that regard.

I sat in a patch of sunlight by the living room window next to the Christmas tree. The weekend earlier, I picked the small Douglas fir from the stand of trees on the eastern side of my property and Eric had chopped it down. I'd hung some old family ornaments I'd brought over from Shreveport, there weren't many but just enough to cover the small pine. Underneath, as Eric had promised, sat a square brown paper package. I moved it to my lap, sliding my thumb under the taped folds. I had a feeling I knew what it was. Sorry Santa, this girl was impatient.

It was a stack of vintage records. Rory Gallagher, Mountain, Steve Miller Band, Fleetwood Mac, and Cream. I bet Eric had it sent over from his own personal collection. He knew I had a thing for old school blues and rock but was fairly limited in my tastes and wanted to expand my collection. Bastard. I loved it. I turned them over carefully in turn, admiring the cover art and the love and wear that time had left behind on the cardboard cases.

A small paper bag stamped with Treasure Trove's insignia sat beside where he left the records.

I lifted the baggie gingerly and peeked inside. A jewelry box. I opened the case before I could psych myself out and hide it away indefinitely. I sighed softly. A necklace. The light caught in the balmy moonstone making it gleam. It was set in a sweetly ornate Edwardian-style drop pendant on a delicate silver chain. I'd admired it with Phillip that first day I visited the store. If I remembered right, Phillip had said it was art nouveau, made around 1910. A gorgeous statement piece that would be pretty yet unassuming under a nice blouse or impressive with an evening dress.

Double bastard.

I drove back to Chester, leaving the records behind but stowing the jewelry case in my purse. I wanted to show Amelia and possibly admire it a little more. At this stage, I'd be giving the gifts back. It didn't feel right accepting anything from him under the current circumstances, at least not until we could talk things out properly face to face. I still had Eric's present to give him too, a handmade lap desk I'd commissioned from Russell Edgington. It was very Scandinavian in design; simple clean lines, a clever folding mechanism, and featured a hidden compartment. Made from local pine, too. I'd placed it under the tree when I got in that morning, but I had been planning on giving it to him that last night he was here... Instead, everything had gone pear shaped.

Christmas was only two days away now, so after dropping Bonnie at Amelia's, I spent time at the large supermarket in Chester picking out items I'd need for Christmas lunch. Plans with Glenda had been changed once I realized Amelia had no Christmas plans either. Amelia had been bringing home wreaths and sprigs of evergreens and hanging them up around the already over-decorated house, she said it was for the Wiccan winter celebration, Yule, but that she was too busy with work to properly celebrate or even consider what she might do for Christmas. I coaxed her into letting us bring Glenda to Amelia's for Christmas lunch since her condo wasn't far from the retirement home.

I was loading up the truck when I felt a warm hand on my shoulder.

"Hello Susannah," came a voice in a deep well-mannered tone.

"Niall," I smiled. He stood tall, perfectly coiffed and put-together. He straightened his pea coat and hooked his walking stick into the crook of his elbow. He held himself in such a way it was like he walked straight off the set of a Jane Austen adaptation and onto the street before me, faint English accent and all. Good looks and style seemed to be the running trait of the Brigant family.

"Claudine had informed me of your return to Lake Douglas. I was intending to reach out to you in the New Year once the busyness and carousing at the resort died down. It's lovely to see you again after so long." He smiled warmly at me.

"Aren't you sweet," I replied, smiling. We stood on the pavement and spent a minute sharing our how do you dos, and trading polite back and forths.

"Are you free now?" he asked. "I was just heading around the corner for some lunch. It would please me greatly if you could join me."

We found a table at a diner the next block around on Main Street. I ordered a plate of waffles with berry compote and cream, and Niall chose a roast beef sandwich. Soon our food was served and conversation between us was flowing smoothly.

Niall looked completely out of place in the casual atmosphere of the diner and I couldn't help but wonder if maybe he'd lied about being out to lunch to find an excuse to spend more time with me. I tamped that confusing niggle of intuition down. I needed more good people in my life, I was happy to spend time with an old family friend. I caught Niall up on all that had happened in the years since I'd seen him last at Gran's funeral. He listened intently, his dry, warm hand resting on mine.

"Life has never come easily for you, dear Sookie, but I'm proud to see how strong you've become and how you've thrived in such circumstances."

I snorted indelicately. Thrived was debatable. I could appreciate the good sentiment though, and I squeezed his hand in return.

The conversation turned to lighter topics; Niall informing me of all the changes he'd made to the resort, proudly declaring he'd hired an amazing French chef the summer before, one who had been awarded a Michelin star at his previous restaurant. I asked after his grandchildren, Claudine and Claude, who were now the only surviving descendants of the Brigant line in the U.S. Niall, with a pinched smile, shared that Claudine was a Yale alum h a degree in art history and returned some years earlier to Chester to assist with the resort and had taken to running various real estate interests.

Claude sounded as nasty as ever, but I kept that unsurprising observation to myself. I was probably unfairly prejudiced when it came to him since he was a complete douchebag to me my last summer here. Last I heard, he was running a strip joint here in Chester, but Niall informed me it was an endeavor he left behind in his early 20s and he was now the bar and entertainment manager at the resort.

Just waiting for Niall to kick the bucket so it could all be his, I thought without a hint of remorse. It was terrible of me to make that assumption, but knowing Claude it was probably close to the truth.

We paused our chatting while a young waitress refilled my coffee mug. I froze cautiously as I spied the look on Niall's face as he watched my movements. Resigned, tender, even a little bereft.

"Why did you invite me here?" I asked quietly, setting my cup down on the table.

Niall slipped his hand over mine again but I withdrew it sharply, remembering with a painful tug Eric and his emotional plea days earlier.

"I regret how the consequences of ones' actions can take so long to become apparent," he began cryptically. "I did my best by Adele, followed her wishes. Although, I can't help but wonder if that was a foolish endeavor."

"What are you talking about?"

Niall sighed deeply, his age coming into sharp focus across his features. The wrinkles lining his forehead stood out, the creases at the corners of his mouth deepened.

"I'm your grandfather, Sookie."

And just like that, the solid foundation on which I built my life dissolved from under me. I was left floundering, kicking uselessly under the darks waters of the lake struggling for purchase on anything to keep me afloat only to find nothing. I blinked, my hands fluttering around the warmth of my cup searching for something to anchor myself on.

Niall explained. Explained the history I never knew; one I never could have fathomed. His unrequited love with Adele. Her distress and longing for the children she so desperately wanted but never came with Mitchell. The summers Adele and Mitchell spent by the lake, and their close group of local friends, the perfect backdrop for an unfulfilled wife and rich entrepreneur to begin a torrid affair.

If my hand gripped my coffee cup any tighter it might have shattered. I couldn't believe it. It was slander. What he was saying couldn't possibly line up with the loving, stern and God-fearing woman who raised me. The values she imparted onto me, the strength of her faith and belief in Christian principles. This was absurd.

"There's a letter," Niall said, as I swum - drowned - in confusion and disbelief. "I understand your doubts, but she wrote me a letter when we parted ways. It will explain her position and provide the proof you need."

"Why?" I asked hoarsely. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"You are my kin," he said simply. "Blood of my blood. To share my life with Corbett and Linda, and with you and Hadley and Jason, it was all I ever wanted… Second to Adele. I am an old man now, and I did my best to follow her wishes. And now I find all I am left with is regrets."

Tears clouded my vision and my hand was trembling when he took it in his yet again. I didn't shun the contact.

"I've always had a soft spot for you, Sookie. I know you were always aware of that. My greatest wish is to get to know you, be a part of your life. I should not have waited so long. You know as well as I that death can come at any time. I respected Adele's request for me to stay away, and it is my greatest regret. Perhaps you will visit the resort and have lunch with me at the restaurant next week? I can show you the letter."

I stared at our clasped hands. The skin on the back of his hands was pale and thin, a smattering of light age spots like drops of watercolor paint. He was in his twilight years now. Early eighties by my best guess.

First Eric, now Niall. Eric's revelation suddenly paled in comparison to Niall's. How many more people in my life were keeping stuff from me? Niall had been keeping this from me, from Jason too, for years.

"A man is not old until his regrets replace his dreams," I said softly, mostly to myself.

"Ah. I recall hearing Adele say that on occasion. She was so fond of her adages and pearls of wisdom."

I managed a watery smile. She was all about the one liners when it came to offering her advice.

"I would like lunch," I said. My heart hurt. I was still so confused. I wasn't sure if agreeing was a mistake, but I needed to know more. I needed to see that proof for myself. The idea that I had more family outside of Jason caused the pilot flame in my chest, one made small and dim from loss, suddenly flare. Niall beamed in response and we agreed to meet on the 28th for lunch.

After a quick trip to the bathroom to find my bearings and splash water on my face, I politely excused myself from lunch. I offered to pay my share but Niall wouldn't hear any of it. He didn't seem offended by my quick exit, perhaps understanding I was thrown off kilter and needed time to make sense of what I had learned.

I wasn't a Stackhouse. I was a Brigant.

Claudine and Claude were outside, waiting beside a silver Mercedes parked on the street. Claudine appeared anxious, her hands nervously twisting. Claude, looking older but as handsome as I remembered, held an indifferent expression. He was leaning against the car, arms crossed, narrowed eyes following my movements.

"Sookie," Claudine began. I furiously shook my head at her and continued walking past. I focused on putting one foot in front of the other until I turned the corner. There was only so much I could deal with in one go.


	21. God Walks the Dark Hills

The next few days passed in a subdued blur. As much as I was comfortable in confiding with Amelia about my boy troubles, I decided to keep my lips zipped regarding my family. My maybe-new family. There would be DNA testing to come, that was for darn sure. Either way, it felt wrong to talk about it. It seemed too real if I had to say it out loud. I hadn't told Jason when we caught up on the phone, either. I didn't know what to do with the revelation Niall had heaped upon my lap and I found myself often thinking of Gran and trying to mesh my memory of her with the woman Niall had described.

I missed Eric. I wanted badly to share this with him. To unload the burden I was carrying, but of course, some of that burden was hurt he had caused himself. Or rather, burden I had caused by freaking out and pushing him away. My mind was a conflicted mess.

Having said all that, Christmas was an unexpected joy. We collected Glenda before lunch in Amelia's little car since it was easier to get in and out of. Glenda seemed to be walking more easily and not leaning into her stick as much as I'd seen her previously. She was quiet and pensive at first, but Amelia used her double combo to win her over like she did me: upbeat attitude and crazy Christmas obsession. Glenda didn't ask about Jade's investigation and neither of us touched on the topic of people we could have been spending Christmas with in an alternate life; a life where people didn't have their lives cut short by unexpected death. The food was a combined effort from both Amelia and me and it was satisfying and cheerful to share it all together; the three of us surrounding her small dining table, a large Christmas wreath and candle in the center.

Glenda embraced me when I walked her back to her room at the home and thanked me for the nice meal. We smiled at each other, affected by the Christmas cheer and from the afternoon spent together. I felt like I'd made a new friend. Maybe not a close one, maybe not one I'd see much of again, but a friend with whom I was able to share what might've been a lonely day otherwise.

I made a point to walk straight out of Golden Oaks and not go looking for Dot. I had no cause to tempt fate. As much as the rest of my life was a mess, at least I wasn't worried about being chased down by the undead.

When I got back to the condo, I found Amelia at the stove making a small batch of eggnog. We'd refrained from drinking all day since Glenda couldn't drink on her meds. So we sat on her shag pile rug, leaning against the couch and put on _Miracle on 34th Street_. The eggnog was unreal, tasting just like melted ice-cream with the pleasant after-burn of bourbon. Just enough alcohol to bring on an enjoyable buzz from the first mug.

Bonnie laid her head on my lap, still exhausted from the long jog I took her on that morning through a frosty trail in the woods that bordered the edge of town. I scratched her head idly, feeling completely at ease for the first time all week.

"I've had a thought," Amelia said, holding out the remote to mute the movie. Her cheeks had turned a ruddy red color from the booze, her eyes shining in a merry way. "Well, more like a few thoughts culminating into a theory."

"Okay. About what?"

"I think Eurynome or Eurynomos, or whatever you want to call him, doesn't want to hurt you or kill you."

"You think he's interested in being friends or maybe, what? Looking for a hookup?" I giggled and scrunched up my nose. I reached across her to grab the remote, but she snatched it from reach, looking serious.

"You told us the morning we did the banishments that the old seer lady said death follows you and you follow death. Well… What if, it's because you are the mortal link between death and the living world? It sought you out because it knew it could communicate with you. You're like a figurative bridge between life at death."

I frowned. I didn't like the idea of that.

"Your career choice involves deaths and estates," Amelia said counting it on her finger. "You're even working on the investigations for those missing girls. I know you've… well, you've experienced a lot of loss in your life."

"Are you saying that people died because of me? My husband died because of me? Because of some freaky connection with death?" I sat up straight, gently pushing Bonnie's head from my lap.

"That's not what I'm saying."

"It sure sounds like it."

"No, please don't take offense, that's not the point I'm trying to make. Of course, you don't influence death or cause anything like that. I'm just showing how you have an established experience, and yes, maybe a connection with death. Obviously, no one wants that, but it's hard to deny looking at at your life."

"I can't believe we're talkin' about this right now. I just want to get my Christmas groove on. And, what you're saying is highly offensive, FYI." I made a weak attempt to lunge for the remote but Amelia moved it further from reach.

"Just humor me for sec, will you?"

"Alright…" I sighed in a noisy and put-upon way, staring across at the TV where little Susan was on screen chatting to Santa. "Let's say it's following me because I am this bridge. Then why has it taken this long in my life for crazy shit to start invading it?"

"Because nothing of this nature has had a reason to before now. Eurynomos is trying to communicate with you. Now."

"What?" I scoffed. "And say what?"

Amelia pulled out her phone and opened the picture gallery, flipping through the images quickly. She leaned over and showed me one on her screen.

"I took a picture of its listing in Octavia's grimoire." She zoomed in on the page. "Read through the description again. The script is old but not that hard to make out. Tell me what you think, maybe you'll have the same conclusion as me."

I took the phone from her hand and looked over the page. I tried my hardest to ignore the sneering hand-drawn illustration of the beast.

_Eurynomos._  
Keeper of the damn'd. Dark Prince of high decree.  
Eurynome and Babael, keeper of the graves, Lord of the Flies,  
it travails the realm by many names.  
This curs'd beast walketh the realm, feeding on flesh of the dead.  
't speaketh not, lest 't miss a vile mouthful.  
In dark stead, 't guards those long depart'd.  
Peasants whisper of a second mouth, 't consumes more flesh,  
greedy and vexatious tis driven by arrant gluttony. 

I read it once. Read it through again. My mind churned over the words, and my unfocused gaze moved from the phone to the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree. I knew what conclusion Amelia had come to, yet it seemed too farfetched to entertain.

"Well?" Amelia breathed, practically bouncing with excitement. "If it was trying to communicate to you, a conduit between the living and dead, what do you think it's trying to tell you?"

Leading a horse to water, Amelia was trying to make me take a sip. Walking me right to a precipice, coaxing me to step off; to step off to a place where the inconceivable met the unsolvable.

"It can't speak, but it's been trying to get my attention. To tell me something." I swallowed, forcing myself to continue. "But it can't physically tell me, so it wants to show me...?"

"Yes! It hangs around not because it wants to eat you or kill you. That's not its M.O. It feeds only on what's already dead."

Really? I wasn't so sure about that. That day it grabbed my ankle sure felt like it was trying to kill me, or hurt me. But then again… didn't Dot say it wanted to use me?

"It's the keeper of the graves," I said, the words feeling thick and hard for my mouth to get around.

"So…?"

"So it wants to show me a grave - or graves."

"The girls," Amelia whispered, the flashing Christmas lights forming a red and golden halo around her wavy bob. Jesus Christ, Shepherd of Judea. Was that it? Was that what it was trying to do? Was it the key to solving this awful mystery?

"What? Why me? Why does it even care?"

Amelia shrugged taking a sip of her drink. "I dunno. Demon with a conscience?"

"Okay, well that's stupid."

"Maybe. Or maybe it's beyond us to question the motivations of death."

We stared at one another for the longest time, my brain churning Amelia's theory over and over until I began feeling sick and dizzy.

"What should I do? Should I approach it?"

"Hell no!" Amelia exclaimed. "I'll contact Gwen, she's my coven leader back home - the one I told you about. Maybe she'll know of some way to communicate with it."

"'Maybe' doesn't sound very hopeful to me. What if approaching it is the only way?"

"We'll cross that bridge if it comes to that."

I tossed and turned all night. There was no proof to back up Amelia's theory. It was conjecture. A best guess. She was connecting together pieces of what could be two entirely different puzzles. But still… It made sense. A solid feeling from deep inside my gut told me there was truth to her idea. A deep bolt of intuition that ran through the core of me and wouldn't let me relax or let the idea go.

I should have connected the missing girls to the demon myself. I'd been too self-absorbed, too sure it was only focused on me that I'd overlooked the bigger picture. I'd only gone as far as to wonder if the demon had caused their disappearances, but I hadn't had the sense to realize that maybe the demon was there _because_ of the disappearances. I saw their faces in my mind's eye. The smiling pictures of the girls we'd printed at the station and stuck on the conference room walls. Their faces were burned to my retinas.

I sighed, rolling over in bed for the umpteenth time. I reached to my nightstand and picked up my phone. I stared the screen, thumbs hovering, poised and ready. Time passed - too much time maybe - before I finally began typing.

S: Are you awake?

I wanted to hear to his voice. His throaty chuckle. I wanted to tell him I missed him. I wanted him next to me now. I wanted him. Eventually, I drifted off into a light sleep still waiting for a reply. No surprises there, Eric slept like the dead.

The dim, pale blue of pre-dawn found me on my side in bed, staring at the digital alarm clock. I listened as Amelia moved quietly through the condo, showering, dressing and preparing her breakfast. She was working that day. The resort ski facilities would be back in full swing after a single day of rest for Christmas. I waited until I heard her shut the front door behind her and I cast off my blankets.

I swung my feet out of bed and showered, taking care to shave my legs until they were buttery smooth and then shampoo my hair a second time. I dressed and ate breakfast, feeding Bonnie at the same time. I stood at the sink, staring unfocused out the small kitchen window as I washed my mug and plate. I was moving methodically. Mechanically. My mind was elsewhere.

I packed my things for the day and scrawled a note for Amelia, leaving it propped against the fruit bowl. The sun was steadily rising, casting beams of light over the mountain range surrounding Chester. I drove straight through the Chester and through the town of Douglas then onward up the winding road towards my cabin. I was sure Bonnie, from her seat in the back, knew exactly where we were going, her tail steadily thumping like a bass drum urging me on.

There had been more snow since I've last visited, the driveway thick and covered. It would be a pain in the ass to shovel, but I could leave it for now at least. Maybe in the New Year, I'd hire the local guy to come up with his plow. The New Year. It was close. A whole new year of days and decisions to contend with. Decisions like… If my otherworldly visitor was planning on sticking around indefinitely, would I be game enough to continue living here on my own? I'd felt so certain I would never leave the cabin. But Eric had softened my resolve. Or maybe manipulated was the right term.

I wasn't sure where we stood now, but I couldn't rely on him to stay with me forever. After his reveal and the hissy fit I pitched there might not even be a 'him and me' to think about. I might have tanked it prematurely. And even if there was an 'us', he'd be back to NYC once his book was done and dusted. I needed to rely on myself. At the end of the day, it was just me. It was _always_ just me. Hadn't life taught me that, time and time again? I think that's what God had always intended. And I would make the best of that. Bonnie lifted her nose as we pulled up out front. Okay, maybe I wasn't exactly alone, I mused with a smile, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

I let myself into my cabin through the front door. The aroma of fresh paint and renovation was now nearly imperceptible and the house was beginning to smell musty with disuse. It was the smell of nostalgia. As a child, I would breathe in great lungfuls of it – the fragrance that marked our arrival and the start of a new vacation season at the cabin. Gran would complain about it, opening the windows wide and leaving the doors open, trying to chase it away. I understood why now. It was a stale, stagnant smell. One devoid of life.

I dressed quickly upstairs. Long johns, light water-resistant hiking pants, two pairs of woolen socks, two long sleeve shirts and t-shirt. Gran's gold crucifix pendant, on a golden chain that went around my neck. I figured I'd want my faith and Gran, the pure epitome of strength, with me. Lastly, I zipped up my favorite cranberry colored soft-shell jacket. Thin layers were the trick to hiking in the snow. If you got too warm you could take off just enough to keep at a comfortable temperature without risking getting cold.

I filled my backpack with supplies. A small first aid kit, trail mix, a gallon of water, a thermos of tea, apples, enough for two decent meals on the go, extra dry clothes, a warm scarf, my balaclava, and finally Bonnie's lead. As a last thought, I included a small tub of Vaseline in case I needed to coat Bonnie's paws as a protective barrier from the cold. She was a dog bred from and for snowy and cold conditions, but I wanted to be prepared. I didn't know how far I'd go. I tied two wide snow-shoes to my pack and hoisted it on my back. Good, not too heavy.

With the Benelli on its strap over my shoulder and a soft prayer on my lips, Bonnie and I exited through the living room sliding door onto the deck. I shut it behind me but left it unlocked, that way I wouldn't need to fumble with keys if I was in a hurry to get back in.

Lord help me, please don't let that be an idea I'd have to put to good use.

Bonnie was thrilled to be back on home turf, sprinting around outside excitedly, her nose low to the ground taking in all the new scents that had arrived with extra snow and a few days absence.

I walked to the stone placed at the northern cardinal point. It was right on the boundary of where salt had been sprinkled. The wind was whipping loose tendrils from my braid, strong gusts of icy chill wailing through the pines. Mother Nature's organ putting on a performance. My neck prickled. I swung the rifle strap around my shoulder so I held the butt in one hand and the barrel in the other. It was a reassuring heaviness in my grip.

"Alright!" I shouted, my voice carrying in the wind. "I know you're out there somewhere! I'm here, and I invite you onto my property. Show yourself! Show me what it is you've been trying to tell me!"

There was no response, save a distant squawk of birds somewhere in the distance. Ravens or crows, maybe. I turned my focus to my breathing, trying to calm myself, trying to be patient. This preparation could all be for nothing. Maybe Amelia was wrong.

The distinctive clicking of Bonnie's paws on glass sounded from behind me and I turned. She was back at the sliding door, pawing to get back inside, her tail hanging low. She let out a small whine.

I jogged up to the deck and crouched in front of her.

"You really gonna be a fraidy cat, Bon Bon?" She didn't answer. This was the dog who cowered when other dogs a third of her size would bark in her general direction. I could hardly blame her for not wanting to stick around.

I slid the door open and she zipped indoors. I flicked on the electric heating, refilling her food and water bowl. I grabbed some of my older towels from the linen closet and laid them flat on the floor in the kitchen, hoping she'd choose to use that rather than soiling one of the area rugs. I was praying I wouldn't be gone long enough for it to even be an issue.

I shut the sliding door quietly behind me, Bonnie happily settling herself down beside the panel heater on the living room wall. As I stepped back outside I was assailed by the awful and familiar smell of rot. I bit back a gag, moving to the center of my yard. The breeze whipped around me, bringing no relief from the stink. It was everywhere.

"Where are you?" I shouted. My heart hammered. This was a batshit crazy idea. I was batshit crazy! But didn't I always opt to rip off the band-aid, rather than drag my heels and wait? I stared into the trees willing something to emerge. But there was nothing. Shrubs, trees, snow. This was one hell of a band-aid, but if it knew where one of the girls were, or even all of them… And better to do this on my own. It only ever approached when I was alone. It needed me. No one else. Not me and a party of others to protect me. It was just me. I had to do this on my own. Death had followed me, and now it was my turn to follow death.

There was no response to my yell, just the whistle and creak of the old pines against the wind and the squawk of ravens flying somewhere above the woods. From my higher vantage on the sloping hill, I could see the birds. They were a mile or so deep into the forest, three of them, circling above the treetops. I watched them quietly. It was a sure sign something was near to dying, or a carcass was being picked over by other critters. It was something Grandpa taught Jason and me when we were out hunting. Well, if something dead or dying wasn't a sign then I sure as heck didn't know what was.

I adjusted my pack on my shoulders and walked towards the birds, rifle gripped tightly in my hands. It was now or never. I had a million reservations. A million doubts. I shoved them all into a tiny box deep inside my mind, focusing only what I knew I should do.

Dot's words, so terrifying at the time, were my mantra – the words I used to force my feet forward. The keeper of the graves had latched onto me and he wouldn't let go until I've done what he needs. There was no way around it. Destiny, she'd said. _Destiny._

Once I breached the tree line the smell only got worse. It was thick and cloying, like walking into a cloud of rotten perfume in a department store's cosmetic department. I mumbled another prayer under my breath and thumbed the gold crucifix from under my collar.

The snow was proving easier to walk on that I expected. It had been a cold night, the white groundcover hard and crunchy underfoot. Good for hiking. Great for slipping. I hummed an old gospel tune under my breath as I made my way carefully through the pines, drawing closer to where I could still hear the ravens calling. I was suddenly feeling more Christian than I ever had in recent years.

" _And he walks in the cold dark night, the shadows of midnight,_ " I sang, my voice a breathy whisper over my labored breathing. " _God walks the dark hills to guide you and me…_ "

The song died on my lips as I rounded an enormous Douglas pine. My breath caught, snagging as my throat constricted. My feet stuck still to the frozen ground. There is was.

The beast of nightmares.


	22. Darkness Present

Black as pitch. Its skin. Eyes. As if the sunshine refused to reflect off its form and instead absorbed itself into every mote of its body. He was hunched, his large hulking shoulders drooping low and leading into abnormally long, brawny arms and claw-like hands. He grunted as he gorged himself on the remains of a half-frozen buck, which had been clearly dead for some time, possibly dragged there from somewhere further down the hill. 

The beast blinked at me, its twisted, misshapen mouth hardly faltering before taking another bite from the decayed flesh. Fine white mists of powdery snow swirled and moved around our ankles, brought on by the blustery wind coming down the hill. A rushing rivulet of vapor, the white swirled in stark contrast around the black of his ankles. I wanted to run. I wanted to turn and flee like the scared little girl wailing inside of me was desperately pleading me to do. I heard the whimper form on my lips but I cut it off before I could indulge that panic-stricken part of me. My mouth clamped shut. Something stopped me.

I felt the knowledge settle like a deep weight in my belly. I couldn’t avoid it. I couldn’t avoid this inevitability. There was something right about this, in a morbid, sickening way. I was intimate with death. It knew me. I knew it. And as Dot said, death came in many forms. Surely this was one form of it. And I could do this either of my own volition or by fate dragging me. How much longer could I avoid this? 

“You wanted me?” I asked. My voice sounded thin; I cleared it. “What do you want from me?” This time I sounded stronger. 

It grunted and continued chewing, its black eyes, beady and slanted, watching me. There was no caution in its gaze, no aggression, it was simply looking. I stared back at it. Across its hulking, boney shoulders sat a fur cloak, that once would've been the brilliant red of a fox skin, but now darkened and ruddy – dirtied by wear and filth.

“This is your chance,” I said. The breeze picked up, the sound whispering past my ears. I took a step closer. “Show me.” 

It made a final slurping sound as its mouth wrapped around a severed leg, sucking the end of the bone clean. It dropped the piece of deer before turning in a surprisingly graceful move. The beast reached up and lifted the hood of its cloak, the fox head, up over its own head. Two small ears crooking upward like two points towards the gray sky. It didn’t check to see if I was following, it simply began to walk. Two wide limping steps that barely disturbed the swirling snow as it blew around its feet. This time I did moan. It moved through the mist without interrupting the breeze. It was unnatural. 

I squeezed my eyes shut tightly. One breath. Two. Then I followed. 

I gave the buck carcass a wide berth. I smoothly navigated around branches and shrubs as it strode ahead, fast but ungainly. Thump, drag. Thump, drag. Just like across my roof. But instead of pacing slowly, this time it walked with purpose. We were moving north-west, it was leading us parallel to the lake, but then it shifted and we went past the lake and further into the national park. While I darted around obstacles, it plowed straight on through, snapping branches in its way, striding straight through bushes and thickets.

I panted with exertion. This was like walking with Eric but worse. I had to chase it to keep it within view, especially with all the bush-bashing. I managed to awkwardly wriggle out of my coat and tie it around my waist. The sweat had soaked through the layers on my back. Cold tailwind cooled the patches pleasantly. 

“Where are we going?” I called between panting breaths but it neither answered, nor paused. We passed the place Eric and I once shared a picnic lunch and it scrabbled up the rocky hill across the other side of the glade, slowing down just enough for me to catch up. It didn’t pause for a break when we cleared the rocky outcrop, it simply strode on. 

Another hour passed. Then another. The stench of the beast didn’t abate, but it became endurable. Nor did it slow or answer my questions. 

Either way, the two of us were making fast work trekking the valley to the northern part of the park. We were moving up and through the foothills of one of the smaller mountains; the neighbor to Mount Rayner, Mount Ettie. This mountain had no ski fields, but I knew from memory it had some summer hiking trails accessible from the other side. I managed to choke down two of my granola bars as we walked and some water all without slowing down. My legs were wearying and every step was becoming deliberate and requiring my will to continue. I was tiring. 

“Please,” I called. “Slow down! I need a break.” My voice whipped past me in the wind. It had picked up pace as we crossed to a more exposed area of the mountainside. It didn’t reply or acknowledge me. A few paces later, I stumbled over a protruding pine root but managed to gain footing. It wasn’t going to stop for me. 

 

I tried to jog to keep up, but my feet slipped under the tracking of the crisp snow. I cursed and readjusted the rifle to stop it swinging forward. I wanted to get ahead of it. My glutes burned, my heels rubbing against my boots, my nose turned numb from wind and cold hours earlier. We crossed over a small creek bed, startling a pack of starlings, send the black birds crying in fear up into the gray sky; a scattering of black stars against the gray. I checked my wrist, then cursed my stupidity when I realized I'd forgotten to put on my watch that morning. For all my preparation, I was still somehow under-equipped. 

On the other side of the creek, the terrain changed; large boulders jutting in between stands of pines, the snow cover thickening, the forest more unprotected and desolate. We climbed on higher and though sweaty, I switched out my favorite beanie for a balaclava, my nose thanking me instantly. I didn't dare slow my steps, and as I pulled it over my face, I tripped up over another protruding root. I tumbled to the ground, my legs tangling beneath me, the side of my head slamming against a jutting piece of granite. 

"Ughh." I pulled myself up to my elbows, blinking away worst of the pain. I touched the side of my head, the pain spiking in an alarming way. The beast finally stopped, looking back over its shoulder and blinking slowly once. I laughed dryly. Maybe it couldn't recognize me with the balaclava, or maybe it thought I looked stupid with it on. I drew myself up onto my hands and knees and shakily stood. My knees wobbled, my head throbbed... but I was okay. It waited for me and I took three cautious steps toward it, trying my best to step surely. My ankle gave way, twisting in such pain that I let out a scream. I fell again, but this time I caught myself on my hands and knees. Shit. I pressed my forehead against a patch of snow, gasping for breath. Shit, shit, shit. I felt the thud of its heavy steps as it approached me. I focused on breathing slowly through my mouth, the stench coating the inside of my nostrils, like thick foul-smelling oil. 

"Sorry. My ankle..." I rasped. The pain was intense, bolts of fiery ice zinging up the length of my calf. It was sprained. Maybe broken, even. I lifted my head when the beast reached me and we appraised each other calmly. 

“Help me," I panted.

It blinked. If it left me here on the side of the mountain? There would be nothing I could do. A huge clawed hand, still covered in viscera from its earlier meal, descended and grasped my forearm, nails digging through the layers of my cotton thermals, pinching the skin. It bared its teeth at me; they were big, discolored, with blackened cracks marring the surface of many. Its pink tongue darted between its lips and it hissed, a foul smell emanating from within, some sickening mix of roadkill in the sun and burning sulfur. 

It hauled me up to my feet and cast off my rifle, throwing it in a wide arc. The weapon flew away from us, tumbling down the rocky hill we’d just climbed, clattering against across rocks and bouncing off the snowy ground before landing atop a leafless shrub. My pack went next, the weight disappearing from my back like a lifeline being ripped away. I screamed out “No!” but it was too late, my pack tumbling down in the same direction as my rifle, landing further down the hill. 

It tugged hard on my arm and I forced myself to limp alongside it. I stared up the hill, wondering how much further it was to go. What time was it? After midday? 

Progress was slower, I felt hot and cold and shivery. Each step caused pain. Shock was setting in. Not from the injury – no. It was a mental shock. Death was grasping me, and dragging me to god knows where.

We made it over a small crest and down a shorter valley when we finally slowed. We paused at the base of a huge incline, sparsely covered in trees and innumerable large boulders that steeply climbed up and away from us. When the beast tried to haul me up the first boulder, I scrabbled uselessly; my ankle stiff, swollen and slipping under me. I cried for it to stop, but it hauled me harder and I fell. 

Instead of landing on the roughened boulder, it caught me and I was pulled up off the ground. I let out a hoarse sound as I landed roughly on its shoulder, my face dangling over and staring down the boulder as it continued to climb, the matted fox skin brushing against my cheek. Its cold grip soaked through where it held me and deep into my skin, settling like an ache in my bones. I grasped onto the back of the fox fur, pinching it tightly in my fists. Lord help me, the smell. Its limbs, on closer examination, weren't the pitch black like I had first thought, there were shades of very dark browns, peaks and valleys of muscles that rippled down the back of its legs, the tendons protruding from the back of its enormous feet. It was hairy but not furry. Obscenely, it reminded me a little of Alcide, the way his chest was covered liberally in dark hair that made him hairy but not so much that it was like he was covered in a thick rug. God, I wondered what Alcide would think of me now.

I hitched a sudden breath as the ground quickly dropped away from us, Eurynomos pulling us up an incredibly steep section. I was definitely facing the wrong direction for this. One misstep and we would be falling like pebbles down the side of the mountain. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, and began whispering that gospel song under my breath again, praying that everyone I loved in heaven, and even God himself, had my back.

I opened my eyes again when I felt the terrain flatten. I realized belatedly that the large drops I'dd been witnessing on the ground behind us was coming from me. Rose petals leading the way home. I touched the side of my head that hit the boulder and my fingers came away bloody. I winced and prodded the wound gingerly, trying to assess the damage. It didn't seem too bad. A huge, throbbing egg had formed - but that was good, wasn’t it? I remembered reading that somewhere, maybe back in those first aid courses I did from when I was a lifeguard, goose eggs weren’t necessarily a bad sign when it came to head injuries; it was when the wound was concave that you were in real trouble. Eurynomos adjusted its grip on me and I called out to it in return. 

"I'm okay. Just keep going if you can keep carrying me." 

It hissed, soft and slow in return. 

"Do we have much longer?" I asked. 

It hissed again.

"I don't know if you can even understand me." I let out a laugh, it sounded disjointed. "But maybe you can. If we’re nearly there, don't make a sound. If we’re not close then hiss." 

It hissed again. 

"Shit." 

"Shhhhhhh....." 

I wasn't sure if it was trying to mimic me or maybe telling me to shut up. Or maybe I was trying to find meaning in a creature that was unable to communicate to begin with. As we traveled, I stared unfocused at our bloody path, I was dripping quickly like a leaking faucet. The racing of my heart and my current position was not helping stem the blood flow. Head wounds always bled like a bitch. I decided to take the demon's advice to shoosh, and so I closed my eyes. 

In that position I dozed - someway, somehow, and incredibly. Bizarre as it was. Maybe it was blood loss, or maybe I had a concussion. Maybe my brain just chose to shut down in shock, given the fact that I was hitching a ride on the shoulder of some sort of crazy dark prince of death. 

An interminable amount of time passed before it threw me off its shoulder. I landed against the trunk of a large pine, gasping my way back into full consciousness. I wasn't really sleeping, I had been thinking about my cabin. Wondering if it was worth extending the deck and adding a hot tub. Strange, the places your mind takes you in the depths of the strangest encounters. 

I took stock of our surroundings, we were on a gentle slope, beside the peak of Mount Ettie. It was a small peak on a small mountain. We were high, but not dizzyingly so. 

“Are we here?” I pressed my sleeve against my head and checked it for blood. It came away red, but not soaked. The beast watched me carefully and let out a mucousy, crackling grunt. “Okay, then.” I unwrapped my coat from my waist and put it back on. I leaned against the trunk and slowly pushed myself up to my feet, favoring my good leg. “Where to then?” 

It grunted against and turned, toward the side of the peak. I didn’t recognize the rock formations on this side. It must be away from the hiking path. From memory, it wasn’t easy to make your way around to this side of the mountain. In fact, I didn't think I'd ever explored this far, which was saying a lot since I'd been hiking this mountain range every summer as a girl.

Mountain climbers were drawn to the attractive peaks of Mount Rayner, and this mountain was considered an intermediate hike for most walkers - although few could claim they'd taken the Demon Route like I had today. Would not recommend.

"Well?" 

It panted and grunted, staying more or less immobile.

We were here. A mixture of dread and anticipation throbbed inside my chest sending tingles to my fingers. Whatever this ...thing... wanted me for, I was on the cusp of finding out why. The feeling tasted bold and bitter in my mouth. I had so little meaning in my life. I'd lost my life partner and was subsequently cast from my job. I came here to Lake Douglas trying to recapture a sense of self that had been addled by years of denying myself any sort of self-care... And this is where I ended up. On a bleak mountain, with a demon of death, and it needed me. No one else. I was chosen. It wasn't an ego thing, it wasn't that I felt ... proud or vain that I was its focus, but it allowed me something I didn't realize I had been missing. Purpose. 

Purpose wasn’t a tangible thing, it wasn’t something that someone could give you – like a job, or a role. It was a fire ignited by a spark of deep need in your chest. I had almost grasped that sense of purpose in helping Tara with her investigations, but even then, it was like trying to capture a fistful of lamplight. It was impossible. I wasn't trained. I couldn't put two and two together the way a trained and seasoned detective could. I couldn't untangle a mystery that was nearly two decades old. But here? Now? Maybe I could. Maybe, God had it all predetermined? That I would be facing off with this beast. 

Eurynomos lifted its arm and pointed towards the peak, to a smallish sized cliff, made of tessellated looking rocky boulders. It twenty feet high, almost completely smooth. I shook my head slowly. 

"I can't climb that." 

It hissed again, stringy threads of saliva falling down from the corners of its mouth and swinging pendulously from its jaw. It turned and moved toward the peak and I hobbled to my feet after it, catching up. We made an interesting pair, a huge fetid beast in black with a red fox fur on its back and a short blonde woman in a cranberry red jacket - the both of us limping. 

We got to the cliff and I palmed the rocks, looking up. I couldn't see anything. I brushed the hair off my forehead and craned my head left and right, looking for anything. It grabbed my arm, startling me and tugged. I jerked my head in its direction and it pulled me to the westward, through a scratchy bush and towards a stand of medium-sized firs. It pushed us through the low branches of the firs, my hair snagging as we went until I finally saw what we came for. 

The mouth of a small cave, formed between the boulders, the entrance black and dark. I leaned against the side of the rock wall to gradually lower myself down to my knees, mindful of my swollen ankle. The entrance was small but just wide enough for me to crawl through. 

"In here?" I peered inside and cleared some of the cobwebs that lined the entrance away with my gloved hand. Tiny pine needles were caught in the webbing. "Really?" I looked back at it and gave me the first indication I’d ever had that let me know it had some idea of what I was saying. 

It nodded. 

It wasn't quite a smooth and fluid as a normal nod. It wasn't even the bouncy kind of nod from those ridiculous bobble head toys you see on the dashboards of RVs driven by gray nomads. No, its head moved up and down like the way dead tree branches snapped – sharp, hard, unnaturally. 

“But I can’t see in there for shit!” My voice amplified as it traveled into the chamber. There was not a pinprick of light inside the tunnel. My voice echoed back after a second. “I had my torch in my pack…” I looked up to the beast hopefully, but it shouldered past me, knocking me back onto my bottom. It got onto its hand and knees and hissed again, its gathering drool finally dripping off its jowls. It was excited. Or angry. I couldn’t tell which. 

“I – I – don’t know. I don’t think I can go in there.” I pushed myself backward away from it, shaking my head. My head injury made it felt like my head kept shaking back and forward even when I’d stopped. The beast snarled and grabbed suddenly onto my ankle, pulling me towards it. I screamed and snatched onto the nearest tree, but my gloved fingers failed to grip. I twisted in its grasp, as I watched as it duck its head into the entrance of the small cave. There was a series of sickening crunches and pops as it contorted its body to fit the small entrance. 

“No!” I shrieked. It pushed its way in with a hissing snarl and jolted me forward as the rest of its frame slid abruptly through. It dragged me through the snow and I tore off my gloves, flinging my arms out reaching for something – anything – that I could grasp hold of. 

I was pulled into the black, my hands gripping onto the creviced edges of the tunnel entrance, and then it was dark. There was barely enough room to twist and turn, I grasped onto the edges inside the cave walls. The rock was igneous here, gritty and rough, my nails catching and scraping the sides, but it was futile. 

Panic flooded my every sense, chasing all rationality away. I wanted to help. I wanted to submit to this sense of purpose that had been clawing inside of me. But this was madness! What good would I be in the dark, in a claustrophobic cave? I couldn’t see anything. Or do anything. I was trapped in a nightmare. The tunnel narrowed, squeezing in around me and I flailed, my voice cracking, my back thumping against the top of the tunnel. It pulled my further still and I grasped the walls harder. 

“Stop, just stop!” I shrieked.

It let out a feral, frustrated and screeching hiss and it shook me, tugging me back and forth hard by my leg. I cried out and my head whipped back, slamming against the tunnel wall. The beam of white light streaming in from the tunnel entrance blurred and faded. Awareness fell away like a trapdoor giving out from under my feet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to break this chapter up into two; it was getting too long. I will post the next chapter within the coming hours.


	23. Darkness Present Pt. 2

The rotting scent of death seemed to coat my skin, the inside of my nostrils, down the path of my esophagus and into my lungs. I kept my eyes closed, consciousness returning to me. Wherever I was, it was here with me. My head ached like a bitch. All was quiet. The sound of the wind was replaced by empty, echoing whir as it passed the tunnel opening somewhere. 

I opened my eyes and took a deep breath, careful not to scent the air with my nose. I was somewhere dark. My hands spread out beside me, patting the ground. Cold rock. I was lying down and somewhere dark. I sat myself up and scooted back until I hit an obstacle. My hands reached out behind me automatically and I found myself palming damp walls. I drew in a sharp breath. Something about this was familiar. I coasted my hands across the textured wall once more. 

My dream. This was my dream. I’d also dreamed about the tunnel too. 

I felt my arm, the sleeve of my coat was torn and wet with blood. I lifted my hands and brought my palms close. They were raw and grazed from being dragged. My head spun, and I groaned, leaning forward to put it between my knees. I felt gingerly felt the side of my head. There was still an egg and an open wound, but no bits that poked in. Wait - there were two goose eggs now. One was as tender as the other. It didn’t seem life-threatening. 

I stared into the dark, my eyes adjusting. I could hear faint dripping, the sound of something wet hitting something wet. Faded light gently permeated the dark from somewhere to my right... I strained forward to see its origin. The shadows around me seemed to creep closer as I did this, but my eyes slowly adjusted. I realized the faint light source was coming from the tunnel to the cave - from where Eurynomos had dragged me - and I was now sitting inside a larger chamber. 

"Shhhhh..... Ssss...." 

My head snapped towards the sound. Deja vu threatened to overwhelm my other senses. I shook my head trying to clear the feeling.

"Eurynomos," I replied. I could see its silhouette in front of me, the sharp black line of its large framed shoulders against the faded black background. I pressed myself hard against the wall. It had dragged me here. I brushed my hair from where it had matted against my face. My cheek and the hair felt wet. "You can't eat me," I said. "I'm not dead." I tried to scan the chamber of the cave we were in. I could see the dark shapes of rock formations. The uneven surface of the floor. Everything else was lost to the darkness and blurred in the low light. "At least not dead yet..." 

It replied by hissing, and it moved toward me, kicking something across the ground unintentionally. A hollow clattering sound echoed in the room. 

"This is where you wanted to take me?" I asked. I patted the ground around me, my feet stretching out to try and make sense of the lay of the room. It was hard and flat. "Why?" Against my better judgment, I scooted forward, closer to the beast. What good was cowering against the wall going to do? I was trapped now.

It hissed and limped closer to me, kicking loose debris across the ground. Whatever coated the cave floor clattered and scattered across the floor. Twigs, or lightweight stones maybe. I moved onto my hands and knees, my hands patting against the floor in front of me. I crawled closer to the Eurynomos. 

"Show me what you brought me here for," I whispered hoarsely. "You can’t speak and I can’t see worth a damn, but I can feel." I swept my arms out in a wide arc along the floor in front of me, like the traveling green arc on a radar screen. My fingertips brushed against something wet and soft, and I grasped it, rubbing it between my thumb and forefinger. It was fabric of some sort. I lifted it, holding it up to the faded light. A long strip of worn, decomposing fabric. It was too dark to make out the color or what it used to be. I lowered it back to the floor and continued crawling forward, my arms reaching out in front of me. 

My fingers slipped through puddles of cool moisture, over roughened edges of igneous rock, over bumps and cracks before colliding with multiple pieces of coarse uneven shapes. Rocks? I grabbed one and Eurynomos was suddenly at my shoulder, rasping wetly in my ear. His hand gripping mine, preventing me from letting go. I shrieked in surprise, the bouncing back off the walls as loudly as I had yelled. 

“Is this it? This… rock?” His hands left mine and I lifted the rock to the light. It was pitted and rough, and from what I could tell, a deep mottled brown. My hands swept the floor and I picked up another piece of debris, a stick in with similar texture. My hand fluttered across it and onto another piece beside it – and the next piece beside that.

“Oh my god…” My hands moved further. There were hundreds of pieces, some bunched together, others scattered around, all with pieces of smooth tattered fabric strewn in between. “Oh my god…” My hands swept through the debris, over it, searching for something identifying. 

A few feet forward, then a few inches to the left my hands finally found it. I lifted it up and scuffled as quickly as I could on my knees across the damp floor to the tunnel opening. I held the object up the light, there was no shaft of direct light shining in from outside, the tunnel must’ve curved away on its path to the small cavern, but the ambient light was brightest here. My hands trembled as I swept across the smooth, round top, my fingers trailing down the side, I brought it close so that I could focus on it closely. We were face to face. A human skull and I. 

“How did you get here?” I murmured, tracing the curve of its cheekbone with my pointer finger. “Who put you here?” 

I gently placed the skull on the ground beside the tunnel mouth and continued crawling through the small cavern. I closed my eyes, my fingers working, sifting through the piles. There were so many bones… It was overwhelming. Picked clean and scattered; it was like they had been spread willfully from one end of the cavern to the other. 

I lost myself in the task, the pain of my injuries forgotten. My fingers pored over every bone, mentally cataloging, trying to place what each was. A femur or a clavicle? A finger piece or a toe? The sheer amount was astounding. Long bones, small pieces, tatters of clothing, shoes… and three more skulls. I was placing the last skull beside the rest when I finally realized I was alone in the tunnel. I leaned against the rock wall beside the skulls and rested my head, the side that was uninjured, against the cold stone in exhaustion. 

“Thank you,” I called loudly.

Eurynomos had gone. 

* * *

Dragging myself out of the cave wasn’t fun. Light was dimming as sunset approached. The growling of my stomach reminded me it had been hours since I'd eaten, the throbbing of my head told me I might have found what Eurynomos wanted me to find, but half the journey was still ahead of me. And I was cold. Very cold. I pulled myself commando style, elbow-length by elbow-length through the tunnel, my fingers biting into the craggly sections of rock to help propel myself forward. There was a corner like I'd suspected, and I was stuck there for minutes, expelling all my breath, sucking in my stomach and trying to twist myself so that I could make my way easily around it. My back and ribs cried out in protest, likely battered and bruised from the first time through when I had lost consciousness. I groaned progressed another inch. Damn these breasts... Of all the things God chose to gift me in great bounty. Tears of relief squeezed from my eyes when I made the corner. I lay panting for a moment and shifted my head, realizing the tunnel was blessedly, deceptively short. Two more minutes of crawling and inching and I was out in fresh air. 

The air was biting, crisp and wonderful. I lifted the balaclava-wrapped skull, it was the first skull I'd discovered in the cavern, and carefully unwrapped it. This is the only piece I'd chosen to bring back out with. It didn't appear damaged in its travels with me out of the cave. I rewrapped it and crawled a few feet forward and lay down almost supine along the snow, my head resting against the trunk of one of the huge pines shielding the cave's entrance. I was tired beyond comprehension and so I caught my breath as I examined the skull in the fading light. It was mostly intact and completely cleaned of flesh and hair. Was it the moist conditions? Or the beast? Or some other critter that was drawn by the scent of decay and feasted itself on the remains? A small section at the bottom of the skull, about two inches in diameter was crushed in. Blunt force trauma? The skin on my finger, rough from my clawing and climbing, snagged along a sharp edge of bone, scraping the top layer but not drawing blood. 

"Shoot." I rubbed my thumb against the finger, soothing it. I turned the skull back around and faced the eyeless sockets. "We found you. And next, we'll find your killer." 

But first I had to survive the night. I scooted out from under the tree on my bottom and took stock of where the brightest patch of cloudy gray was situated in the overcast sky. It was directly to the west, creeping worryingly close to the mountainous horizon. It was an easy walk home, more or less. Straight down the side of the alpine terrain and then across the valley, past the lake and onward to home. We'd trekked maybe three maybe four hours to get here. And it would be much quicker to get home... If my ankle wasn't sprained. 

I rolled up the cuffs of my pants and untied the laces of my boot, pulling it off and examining the ankle. It was swollen and freshly bruised. I wriggled the toes, even that hurt. I pulled the sock back on and left the laces on after I put on my boots. I stared down the hill, down past the valley towards the direction of the lake. I wouldn't be making it home tonight. 

I managed to stand up gingerly and practiced hobbling around on my weakened leg, I found my gloves, haphazardly tossed in the snow, and pulled them back on. The balaclava next. Hypothermia was a real risk for tonight. It was probably inevitable. I limped to the smallest of the Douglas firs and pulled off as many of the bushiest inner branches as I could. I'd gathered six and then moved higher to the smaller, weaker branches and pulled off the handfuls of pine needles. I shook them out the residual moisture and worked slowly, limping back and forth lining the bottom of the tunnel with needles. It was slow work, but it got my blood pumping. I was burning calories, though I wasn't concerned. It wasn't starvation that was my concern. I needed to keep warm. Once the sun came up, I could try and trek down the hill and reach my pack for more supplies. Nighttime was drawing close by the time I finished creating a makeshift pine needle mattress and I retreated into the tunnel, packing the largest of the pine branches around me so I was cocooned in the tunnel. I pulled the hood of my coat around my head and pulled the drawstring tight. I stuffed my arms under my armpits and curled up. I paused before closing my eyes. And I reached for the skull which was resting by my legs. I moved it up to the entrance of the cave, so it would be the first thing I saw when I woke up. 

Morbid? Incredibly. But I was going to survive because these girls deserved justice and their family deserved answers. 

I slept in snatches all night. Nothing can adequately describe how cold the cold can feel. It hurts your teeth. It rattles your brain. All your major joints ache. Even the moisture behind your eyelids feels cold. Your breath is indescribably hot against your hands, it could be a fan heater. You shiver so hard you can't help but wonder whether your body is playing a joke on you, surely nobody could shiver this hard or this much without putting it on. 

The fear started to creep in the early hours of dawn. 

The shivering stopped. The cold seemed to dissipate. A part of me was euphoric. Maybe my body was acclimating? But I wasn't silly. I was nothing, if not a realist. Or maybe what Eric would call a cynic. But I knew the signs of hypothermia. When you vacation in a winter wonderland for every Christmas of your childhood the knowledge is drilled into you. I was hypothermic. I needed to keep lucid, or next would come paradoxical undressing. In the final stages of hypothermia, the final before death, you feel as if you're burning up. I would become confused, slow-witted and start peeling off my clothes. I had to keep my wits about me. 

I sung Daddy's old Willie Nelson record from start to finish, I focused on wriggling my toes, on the feeling of my hot breath reflecting off the inside of my jacket collar back at me. Dawn slowly lightened the sky, and I focused on the sharpening silhouette of the skull at the entrance of the tunnel. On the dark eye sockets that seemed to stare back at me. To stare into me.

"I will survive," I told it. "I will get home." 

"Fiat justitia ruat cælum..." Came its whispered reply. I sucked in a sharp breath, pressing my fingers against the skull's teeth. They hadn't moved, though the sound still echoed. I was either losing it, or ghosts were speaking Latin to me. A quote I knew.

_Let justice be done though the heavens fall._

I waited only a few more minutes before climbing out. I untucked my shirt layers and stuffed the dry pine needles down into my shirt and into the legs of my pants. Every little bit would help insulate. I cradled the skull under my arm. Tucked myself in, zipped myself up and gingerly took a first step. My leg collapsed, but I caught the slack in the other leg, holding strong. 

"Let justice be done," I whispered. "Let justice be done." I began the slow trek down the hill, back the way I came. It was still overcast, a deep grayish blue of twilight muted by cloud cover. I proceeded with slow steps, testing my bad leg before planting it, staring ahead, gauging the path in front of me. I came over to the rocky ridge the beast had climbed over with me on its shoulder. 

"Where are you, Eurynomos?" I cried into the wind. "Why can't you carry me now?" I laughed a little wildly; I knew there'd be no answer. I sat on my bottom and scooted down the rock face, clinging to craggy sections and lowering myself off others. By the time I'd reached the bottom, the twilight slowly transformed into the bright white of an overcast dawn. I looked back up the twenty-foot rock face and poked my tongue out at it. Sookie Stackhouse: 1, Mt Ettie: 0. 

I limped on until I came to a stand of pines and stopped still. Which way? Shouldn't I have found my pack by now? I turned slowly on my heel, scanning the area. I stared at the sky for some hope for help. Where in the sky was sunlight concentrated most? It was hard to tell, the clouds were so thick... My brain was so fuzzy; disoriented. I stilled, listening to the rush of blood in my ears as I caught my breath. The cool hardness of the skull pressed tightly against where I'd zipped it to my chest. Which way was east? 

As my breathing slowed, the rushing sound continued. I gasped. That wasn't blood rushing in my ears... It was a helicopter! 

I began limping again, moving quickly through the trees until I reached the other side of the wooded section. I picked the biggest tree at the edge and unzipped my coat. I climbed up from inside the Douglas fir, my bruises and scrapes forgotten, and tied my cranberry jacket to the highest branch I could reach. It would stand out like a clear beacon to anyone from above. 

I climbed back down the trunk, skull tucked under my arm, and began yelling out for help. People were looking for me! I was so close. I sunk to the bottom of the tree and hugged my knees to my chest. My ankle had swollen immensely like a puffer fish had puffed itself up inside my sock. I pulled it off and rolled down the top of my sock, where the elastic was digging in most. Fatigue weighed on my limbs heavily. 

I was so tired too...But I called out one more, my voice a worryingly shrill sound that traveled down the valley. I even imagined I heard the faint cry of someone in return. I placed the skull in front of me in the snow. 

Maybe it was her? I moved some pine needles under the skull, a sort of makeshift bed for her.

Fiat justitia ruat cælum, she had said to me. Let justice be done, though the heavens fall down. 

I would see this through. I would tell people about the cave. I would survive this... I just needed to rest my eyes for another little minute first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan to post one more chapter in the next 1-2 days before going back to the usual (approximately) weekly schedule.


	24. The Great Devise

"Sookie!" My head bobbed up off my chest as I was shaken.

"I'm awake, I'm awake…" I mumbled.

"Sookie, wake up!"

"…Sam?" I opened my eyes to find myself still sitting, knees to chest, at the base of the tree trunk. The clouds had parted now, and I was situated in a patch of damp sunshine. Sam was crouching in front of me. I tried to reach out to him but he grasped me in a hug first, laughing with relief.

"Good God, woman. What are you doing out here?" He pulled away from me, cupping my chin and it was all I could do to hold my head up. Bill appeared over his shoulder, handing items from his backpack over to Sam. The both of them were in their ranger uniform, tan shirts peeking out from under their army green waterproof jackets. They made a handsome pair, those two.

"Howdy, Mr. Bill," I said, my words slurred and hard to form. I managed a smile, the cracks in my lips stinging.

He nodded, his eyes serious and lips pressed thin, before passing Sam a package of bright foil. Sam pulled off my gloves and pressed instant heat hand-packs into each of my palms and then more on my neck and tucked into my pants and armpits. Sam wrapped me in the silver space blanket Bill had handed him. A moment later, there was a thermos cup held to my lips and I was drinking warm, sweet, milky tea. Heaven.

I leaned against Sam gratefully, as Bill radioed our location to the rescue chopper.

"What did you find, cher?" he whispered into my ear, his worried gaze traveling to the patch of snow where the skull sat on its little pine-needle bed.

* * *

The next lucid sensation was the swipe of a dry, smooth thumb across the back of my hand, the squeeze of fingers pressing into my palm. My eyelids felt heavy, but not as heavy as every other time I'd tried to open them over the course of the last twelve hours. I blinked against the bright lights and groaned.

"It's okay." The words were softly spoken from my side. "You're at the hospital. You're okay."

I groaned again and closed my eyes. I was sick of trying to grasp hold of consciousness. So many hours had passed where I'd felt like bathwater whirl-pooling down the drain; I'd been helpless to fight against the pull of unconsciousness.

"Can't stay awake," I mumbled, lifting my free hand to touch whatever was over my face muffling my words. An oxygen mask.

The voice shushed me, and I felt my blankets being adjusted, the mechanical whir of the bed rising slightly. I opened my eyes again and turned my head slightly towards the movement.

"Niall."

"Hello, Susannah."

I felt my eyes prickle with tears.

"I feel weird," I said. The words were thick on my tongue and muted by the mask.

"As I would imagine. Your body has been dealt a great shock. You are hooked up to all manner of machines that are still working at slowly warming your core body temperature."

"Okay," I said, slowly accepting the information. The air blowing in through the mask felt warm. "I'm glad you're here," I found myself saying. His familiar face was welcome. The memories of the last twenty-four hours were hovering like shadows at the edge of my awareness, threatening to collapse on top of me. I squeezed his fingers lightly.

He nodded, gracing me with a patient smile. "I'll call the nurse. She wanted to be summoned as soon as you were lucid." He stood from his chair and left the room, his walking stick sweetly tucked into his elbow. He reappeared in the doorway less than a moment later. "Before I forget - your friends have been here holding vigil all day. One girl, one of my ski-instructors, Amelia, asked me to pass on that she is minding your dog for you. She knew you'd be worried."

I nodded weakly. My brain hadn't quite caught up to speed, I hadn't even considered Bonnie yet, but I was grateful for one less thing to worry about.

He left and came back some minutes later with the nurse, who fussed over my wires and took my observations. I felt like the bionic woman with the catheter running into my lower abdomen delivering warmed IV fluids intravenously, the monitors strapped to my finger and other various points on my chest, a second IV ran into my hand, as well as the oxygen mask on my face. A blanket, light and puffy, was pumped with heated air and sat atop me like a billowy marshmallow.

Niall moved out of the nurse's way and stood at the foot of the bed, gripping the baseboard watching as she hovered around me working. His features were pinched with concern, though his eyes were tender.

"Did you bring the letter?" I asked after the nurse had finished examining the wounds on my head.

"Yes." He gave a deep nod, not at all surprised by my question.

"Read it to me."

It was a while before he was able. The nurse spoke with me for some time, describing the various ways in which I was currently being treated. I'd be spending some time in the hospital, she said, and I was to expect some pain as the chilblains set in on my toes. Shit. That meant I had frostbite. They were keeping me medicated with pain relief and antibiotics for now. She told me the doctor on the ward would come around soon to explain my condition and what needed to be done moving forward.

Niall returned to his seat and withdrew an envelope from the inside pocket of his wool coat. It was faded, the paper soft and wrinkled as if thumbed and opened many times. He looked hesitant as he turned the envelope over in his hands.

"It's okay," I said. "If you're ready to share it, then I'm ready to hear what she had to say."

He nodded slightly and withdrew the letter from its envelope. He unfolded it almost reverently, carefully smoothing it flat on a patch of mattress beside my hip.

He cleared his voice and began,

_"'My dearest Nye,_

_This letter has been a long time coming, as I believe you know. It's easy to lose track of time while we are swept away by one another... I have loved you for so long and with such strength, I find I cannot remember a time I didn't love you. These words do not come easily to me, but perhaps it was never meant to be easy between you and I?_

_You say all you wish is for me to be happy, and so I say now, with total certainty, that I am happy because of you. Corbett and Linda are my greatest achievement and I would gladly do it all again to have them in my life._

_Do you remember last New Years' celebrations? You said the road we traveled would eventually come to an end. You are right, Niall, however now I see that if you or I fail to declare that dead-end ourselves then it will come from outside forces with far devastating consequences._

_I know you hold deep affection for Enid, as I do Mitchell, and I know you do not wish to break apart your family - nor do I. We owe our families more than the selfish demands of our own hearts._

_It is time to declare our dead-end has been reached. Please do not convince me otherwise. Better to endure this pain now, than deal with this and the pain we cause our families in the future._

_I am thankful that God placed us together on this path so that I could experience great love in all its painful and humbling ways. You will always be my greatest love and my greatest heartache._

_My heart, forever yours -_

_Adele S.'"_

He carefully folded the letter and I pulled the oxygen mask down off my face. He looked across to me, his expression pensive, if a little lost.

"You weep," he said.

I nodded and leaned forward to hug him. After a moment his arms tentatively returned the gesture. I squeezed him as tightly as I could, which in my current condition was barely tight at all.

"She really loved you," I whispered.

"She was the best of me," he murmured.

"Why didn't you pursue her after Mitchell's death?" His wife, Enid, had passed many years earlier, taken by ovarian cancer. He sighed, his shoulders drooping under my arms.

"I was a stubborn mule. Still licking my wounds after all that time. She looked breathtaking that day at his funeral; a flower blooming with strength despite all her grief. It is hard for you to imagine, I know, but when you love someone from afar for so long it is hard to comprehend loving them in any other fashion... Part of me never felt I truly deserved her, but I was a fool." He sighed, his gaze returning to the letter. "As I told you last week, I am a man of many regrets."

"I'm sorry, Niall." I brushed his prickly cheek with a kiss and let him go, reclining back against the bed. My strength was exhausted.

"Don't be sorry. It is history now. We can only move forward."

Movement in my periphery caught my attention and I turned to see Claudine standing at the door. She was vivid, dressed in a red jersey dress with her dark hair swept in a shiny wave across one shoulder. She smiled nervously, an outrageously huge bouquet of flowers in her arms.

"Hello, Sookie." She moved in and placed the flowers over on the windowsill. I quickly swiped the tears from my cheeks, though I was sure she'd already seen them. "How are you?" she asked.

"I've seen better days," I replied croakily. She leaned over the bed to peck me on the cheek.

"I'm so glad you're okay. Grandfather was very worried when we heard you went missing while hiking. _I_ was very worried."

I nodded wanly, pulling the oxygen mask back over my face.

"I also need to apologize, Sookie," she said. I waved a hand in protest but she cut me off. "No, I do. I don't mean about Eric. I mean…" She cleared her throat uncomfortably, her eyes darting across to Niall, who nodded in a firm yet encouraging way. She gripped the bed frame, much the same way Niall had earlier and stared down at her hands. "I need to apologize for the way I treated you when we were teens. Claude must apologize, too. We were cruel then; it was reprehensible."

"That's fine, Claudine – really. It's water under the bridge." After my ordeal, _all_ my previous worries felt like water under the bridge. Especially this.

"No, I need you to understand – it's important you understand. Before that summer, the one with Quinn and all that nastiness, Claude and I had just turned 18. We met with the family lawyer on our birthday to discuss our trusts and inheritance from Grandfather. That was when we learned about the… connection our families shared. About our relation."

My ears perked at that, and I quickly shot a glance at Niall, whose gaze was firmly trained on Claudine. "Okay…" I said.

"During the course of the meeting, you were listed as a beneficiary. Well, you and Jason both, to be precise. It was a shock, and one neither of us handled well."

"A beneficiary?" I exhaled suddenly. I hadn't even thought about that aspect of my relatedness to the Brigants. I'd just automatically assumed black sheep, illegitimate grandchildren wouldn't rate a mention. Alarming really, considering this was the type of thing I was paid to consider and question for a living.

"The resorts, my investments, and all my assets will be split equally between the four of you upon my passing, Sookie," Niall said. My mouth formed an 'o' in shock and Claudine nodded sympathetically at my reaction.

"It must have been confusing for you at the time," Claudine said, "After spending New Year's together and enjoying days our on the ski fields at the resort, to return the next summer and have us treat you so terribly. It's no excuse, but it is the reason… We were told the family business and empire we had been groomed since childhood to take over was to be split with secret family members we couldn't even acknowledge."

I looked back across to Niall. "A beneficiary? Is that wise, Niall?"

"Yes, Sookie. It is right. You cannot convince me otherwise."

I hadn't the energy for any convincing, anyway. Susannah the lawyer had checked out for the day.

"We will leave you to rest now, Sookie, I believe you have more visitors." Niall nodded towards the door where Tara, J.B., and Amelia stood. "We will talk more when you are feeling better." He moved to retrieve the letter from the bed but I stopped him.

"Please - can you leave it? Not for me to keep. Just… I'd just like to read it again."

"Certainly," he smiled, his blue eyes brightening.

"You can come back tomorrow to collect it, if you wish?" I said. My voice came out small and hopeful. I felt like a small child again, seeking the approval of an elder. I wasn't sure what I was hoping to gain from Niall or what sort of relationship I wanted to take shape, but he was a connection to Gran. To a piece of Gran I never knew existed.

"I would like that very much. Take care, Sookie." He brushed the hair from my forehead and pressed a kiss there. Claudine and Niall were barely out of the room before Tara started on me.

"Bitch – what the ever-loving fuck is wrong with you!?"

"Is this Sheriff Du Rone asking, or VBFF Tara?" I retorted tiredly.

"For Chrissakes, T. Give the girl a break. She looks like she's hooked up to The Matrix right now and you're interrogating her!" J.B. commandeered his wife by the hips, moving her to sit in the chair that Niall had vacated. Amelia hovered at the end of the bed, flashing me an awkward wave.

"Shut your damn mouth, J.B. I can interrogate her if I damn well want to, she's my Sookie." She turned to me, her face crumpling and she burst into messy tears. J.B. looked between the both of us like a deer caught in headlights. I managed to shift over in bed before reaching for Tara with my hand. She climbed up onto the space I made on the bed for her and she wrapped me in a fierce hug. I winced and moaned and she apologized, immediately letting go.

"I thought you were dead. We searched until dark and… and I really, honestly thought you were dead," she choked out. J.B. passed over a handful of tissues, which we both used to mop up our collective tears. "Jesus Christ, what were you thinking?" she cried.

"I… I don't even know." I looked cautiously over to Amelia. How much had she said?

"It's my fault!" Amelia piped up, moving around to stand at the opposite side of the bed from J.B and Tara. "I put the idea into her head. We were talking about the missing girls and I got wondering about how the girls might have been dumped in the national park."

"And so you just took off, Sookie?" Tara leaned back to get a better look at me and she squeezed my shoulders in disbelief.

"Hey – ouch. I had a hunch…" I mumbled, more than aware how weak our story sounded. "The skull…" I gasped. The skull!" I hadn't properly thought about it since awakening, hadn't fully acknowledged head-on the true extent of what I'd found.

"Where did you find it, Sookie?" Tara's disposition changed immediately. Her face grew serious, her tone cold and inquiring. She shifted back into the chair beside my bed. Sheriff Tara.

"I – uh… I was hiking the back of Mt. Ettie." I tried to sit up straighter and Amelia pressed the bed remote into my hand. I used it to raise the back of the bed until I was in a seated position, my mind using the spare seconds to scrabble together an acceptable story. "I got injured - twisted my ankle, knocked my head, and night was quickly falling. I found a cave hidden behind a stand of trees. I crawled in seeking shelter and there was a small cavern inside. I found bones, Tara. Hundreds upon hundreds of bones."

Tara's expression changed to cautious hope, her full lips parting in shock. "You found the skull there…" she breathed.

"I spent hours crawling around in the dark in there. And I found four human skulls, Tara. Four."

I filled Tara in as best as I could on the location, but the doctor soon arrived giving my visitors five more minutes. Tara promised to come back first thing the next morning in an official capacity to question me. She had a look in her eye, one telling me she would be planning a full expedition up to the cave and I would see her as soon as the sun was up tomorrow. I told her to bring coffee and oliebollen.

"I don't negotiate with terrorists," she said, though she smiled.

"T, you are the terrorist," J.B complained leading her out by the hand and blowing me a kiss over his shoulder. Amelia shifted anxiously from foot to foot, waiting for them to leave.

"We'll talk, Amelia. But not now. Niall said you're minding Bonnie. Are you fine to keeping doing that? I reckon they'll be keeping me a few more days."

"No sweat. I took her for a walk this morning. She misses you but is happy at my place."

"Great, thank you."

"Just tell me… Was I right? Did it lead you?" Amelia was dressed in a baggy WSU t-shirt, and brightly colored yoga tights, her hair pushed back in a ski headband - her equivalent of a hot mess. But there were deep bags under her eyes, Tara's eyes were similar. Guilt formed like a deep pit in my stomach. I was an idiot to run off alone. It may have been the right thing to do, but I was still an idiot.

"Yes. And I think it's gone now. Gone for good."

"If you're sure…" She didn't sound certain. Her eyes darted across my face, assessing me and I didn't see any of the relief I expected to see. "I'll let you rest. I brought you a bag with fresh clothes and your toiletries. Just call if you need anything."

I thanked her and sent her home, too tired to be bothered telling her my phone was somewhere on the side of a mountain in the middle of Ayóo National Park.

My doctor came in a few minutes after Amelia departed. Dr. Ramil was a young Sir Lankan woman who listened carefully, jotting notes as I repeated the manufactured tale I'd delivered to Tara and J.B. about my failed trek into the woods. I told her how I slipped trying to climb a rocky face, knocking my head twice and twisting my ankle.

"But what about these marks?" she asked, lifting the sleeve of my hospital gown. My arm was covered by a huge white bandage.

"Marks?"

"Long, moderately deep slashes. Are they claw marks?"

I paled and placed a protective hand against the bandage, feeling the weight of her scrutiny.

"You think they're claw marks?" I repeated, pulling out some deposition tricks I advised my clients to use while being questioned.

"Yes, they appear very similar."

"When you say claws, you mean animal marks?" I asked after a long pause.

"Yes, claws marks – as in originating from an animal." She enunciated her words carefully while tapping her pen impatiently against the page of her file.

"How strange," I finished. "I didn't have any encounters with animals." But with demon beasts of death? Yes.

"Perhaps it happened while you were unconscious."

"That's a possibility."

She moved on to my general condition after that. I was improving rapidly, she said. My SATs looked great, but she would keep me on 100% oxygen overnight. The intravenous antibiotics would continue as would the fluids, though they would move on to normal room temperature saline after the current bag emptied.

"The injured foot that was uncovered poses a risk," she said, lifting the air blanket to examine it where it sat raised on its little bed of pillows. "The ankle was x-rayed earlier this morning when you came in and it isn't broken, but it is sprained. However, your toes are frostbitten. You may remember us rewarming your extremities in warm water when you first arrived." I didn't. I had only the foggiest of memories from the morning. "We have your leg elevated and splinted for both the frostbite and the sprain. Your hands and left foot are all fine, and given the length of time you say your right foot was exposed was relatively short, as well as the precautions you took overnight, I don't expect your toes to suffer any extreme effects. However, there is still a chance you may lose one or more toes, but we will see how you go in the coming days. Certainly, you will experience chilblains." She tucked the blankets back over me again. "Expect pain, extreme itchiness, swelling with bruise-like patches. The skin will easily split and ulcerate, so be extra careful of treating each wound accordingly. You do not want a secondary infection. Your bandages will be changed a few times a day from now on."

"Okay, pain, ulcers and a good chance of amputation. Fun times ahead."

"Do not worry, amputation is the worst case. I will come back with a frostbite information sheet for you read over. Now, have you eaten yet?"

"No, ma'am."

"Alright, I'll ask the nurses to find you some sandwiches and juice to hold you over until dinner. Is there anything I can get you before I go?"

"A bedpan? I think my bladder can only hang on another minute or two."

"I'll send a nurse right in." She chuckled, patting my knee. "You've done well, Susannah. You're tough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're probably wondering where a certain author is... Hang in there, I promise he's close!


	25. Romantics and Realists

Anyone who's stayed any length of time in a hospital will tell you sleep is a futile endeavor. It's a never-ending orchestra of strange sounds, the hiss of oxygen; the grinding bleep of the heart monitor; the rhythmic tapping of feet walking the hallways; the off and on murmur of conversations passing your door. But it was the hourly observations which bothered me most; regardless of how quiet the nurses kept their movements, I was always wide awake the moment they were beside me shining their penlight on my file, fiddling with my monitors, and inflating the blood pressure cuff around my arm. It was a routine I was familiar with from those weeks spent bedside with Alcide after his accident. It stirred awful memories and triggered a terrible mix of nostalgia and dread.

I slept fitfully that night and stirred after midnight, though sometime in between my hourly obs, to hear the forceful British accent of a woman vehemently arguing at the nurses' station somewhere down the hall.

"Do you know how far we've traveled to get here in less than two fucking days after Christmas? JFK was completely snowed in for the last 48 hours and we still made it. I haven't urinated in anything cleaner than a filthy truckers' toilet in over twenty-four hours. So I swear to your God, if you do not let this man through I will pull _every_ string I need to make sure your boss and your boss's boss is woken right now and told in very, specific, terms how you, Nurse Courtney Barnes, were denying him permission to visit his ailing partner, and how it is _your_ fault that they now have to come in and sort this shit out."

"Ma'am, you must keep your voice down." The nurse dropped her voice to a murmur and I couldn't make it out over the noises in my room. An accompanying murmur of a male voice chimed in. A male voice which I knew. Very well.

"It's okay... Let's just... Tomorrow we can..." The words faded between hisses and beeps of the medical equipment in my room.

I winced, pulling myself up in bed from where I'd slumped down during sleep and grabbed my remote. I pressed the nurse's call button, waited a moment until it chimed and I turned it off again. The little light outside my door in the hallway flicked on and then off. I did it again, on and off in repeated succession multiple times, the chime ringing down the hall and the light flashing. A single set of jogging footsteps echoed off the vinyl and a familiar frame filled doorway way.

"Sookie." My name sounded like a sigh of relief passing his lips.

"I think I'm gonna go by 'Susannah Still Alive' from now on," I said wryly.

He let out a dry, tired laugh. "Can I come in?"

The nurse appeared behind him. She moved around him, looking like she didn't know whether to cry or pull the security alarm.

"It's okay," I said to both of them. "He can come in. We'll be quiet."

"Five minutes," she said, arms crossed. I switched on the lamp beside the bed and set the remote down.

Eric sat heavily in the chair beside my bed and dropped his head in his hands, dragging his hands through his hair. "You're okay." He exhaled raggedly.

I reached over and touched the back of his hand lightly. When he looked up his eyes were red-rimmed and glassy.

"You look a mess," I said. He was pale, his hair greasy and the messy beard had made a return.

He cracked a grin. "Woman, have you seen yourself?" He looped his fingers with mine before I could withdraw my hand. "What happened? I tried calling you... And when Amelia rang to say you were missing… I thought…" He shook his head slowly in disbelief. "Did it get you?"

"No," I said. "I went out and found it. I followed it."

His eyes widened.

"Amelia and I worked it out," I explained. "Well, she connected the dots that it was stalking me for a reason. I followed it and it led me through the park and to the final resting place of four bodies."

He swore under his breath. "The girls?"

"I think so… But I don't know. They're all bones now. Hidden in a cave on a mountain not far from the lake. Tara's heading out with a team tomorrow to check it out and retrieve the remains."

"Did it hurt you?" He motioned to his jaw. I lifted my free hand to my own jaw and traced the scrapes I hadn't even realized were there. It must've been from when it dragged me through the tunnel.

"Not intentionally. The other injuries," I said gesturing to my foot, hands and arms. "Most were all my fault."

"Is your ankle broken?" My leg was strapped, still elevated on multiple pillows.

"No, but…but I might lose some toes." He looked alarmed and I felt something inside me crack. With a wobbly voice, I continued, "Have you even seen frostbitten feet? They're so disgusting. They get black and then the toes have to be cut off. So, there goes wearing sandals ever again. And they had to shave a patch at the side of my head so they could glue my head where I busted it open. I also have claw marks on my arm that are definitely going to scar." I pinched my lips shut before I started sounding even more pathetic.

I didn't even care about those things, not really, but somehow at that moment the idea Eric might not find me as attractive as he used to, completely devastated me. Urgh. Priorities, girl. I had mine all messed up.

"Hey, hey, hey…" Eric scooted the chair closer. "That stuff doesn't matter, Sookie. Your hair will grow back, the scars will fade and I'll still love your funky, gross toes."

I couldn't help let out a watery laugh in response. He leaned over the bed to awkwardly embrace me. I buried my head into his neck, drawing in his scent. He definitely needed a shower, we both did, but he was familiar and warm.

"I hate it here," I whispered harshly, and the tears finally spilled over. "I _hate_ hospitals. I hate them so much. I'm so tired, but I can't sleep. It's like trying to relax in this awful mausoleum of memories from back then. The smells and the sounds… Every time I try to relax it's like I'm being sent back in time and I'm next to Alcide's bed, waiting for him to die all over again."

"When do you get to go home?" He rubbed my back soothingly.

"I don't know… They want to watch how my toes progress over the next few days. Later in the week, I guess."

Nurse Courtney walked in again and looked at us expectantly.

"Do you want me to go?" he asked quietly, not releasing me from the embrace. I shook my head. He stood up and squared his shoulders. "I'm not leaving. If you have a problem with that you'll have to physically remove me - but then you'll find yourself dealing with Pamela, whom you met in the foyer earlier."

The nurse let out a put-upon huff. Seemed she was expecting this. "Fine. Just be quiet, there are other patients trying to sleep on this ward. I'll find you a blanket and a pillow. One time only – this won't fly tomorrow night."

He sat back down when she left and he smiled tightly at me.

"Thank you." I twisted in bed a little to face him as much as my bad foot and sore head would allow.

"It's no problem. Americans forget that patients are paying customers in hospitals. You have rights also." Forever the pragmatic Swede.

"How did you get here? Was that Pam I overhead before?"

"It's been a long day. Two days." He scrubbed his face tiredly with a hand. "Amelia called me at ten pm the day after Christmas telling me you'd left that morning and hadn't come back. She was hysterical. I was with Pam at the time and she took me straight to JFK. There'd been a snow storm. It was a nightmare. People everywhere, no flights coming or going, and none were expected to resume until late next day. We managed to hire one of the last cars in all of New York and left."

"You're kidding. You drove all this way?"

"Almost. We planned the route and Pam phoned ahead until we found an airport willing to send a charter flight straight into Chester."

Oh, shit. I felt awash with guilt again. "...Which was where?"

He grimaced. "St. Louis, Missouri. We'd been driving in shifts for about 16 hours by that point. Then another four and a half hour flight here. I was only getting intermittent updates from Amelia. She called when they'd found you. But all she'd heard was second-hand information from Tara. They found you injured and basically dead, you'd had a seizure while they were transferring you…" He ran his hand through his hair again, his voice cracking. I'd never seen him at a loss for words before.

"I had a seizure?" The doctor hadn't mentioned that. "And I can't believe you did all that. Travelled that far." I wiped some more tears away. "You must be exhausted."

"The great American road trip I'd always planned," he said, with a wry grin. "Though faster than expected. And yes, that's what Amelia said. Seizure. She said your heart rate had slowed so much by the time they reached you, you were barely conscious and they couldn't even find a pulse, you were hardly breathing. Then you had a seizure on the helicopter flight over."

"I only have fuzzy memories…" Sam's smile and Bill's serious expression. The skull on its bed of pine needles talking to me. _Fiat justitia ruat cælum_. A tingle ran down my spine. Eric stroked my cheek drawing me from my thoughts.

"You're alright now," he said. "You found what it wanted to show you. You can relax." I leaned into the warmth of his hand, his comfort chasing away the lingering chill of fear. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the simple pleasure of him being reunited with Eric.

"You were right," I said, placing my hand over his before opening my eyes again. "About how I would have taken the fact you'd had a green card marriage and the weird blackmail deal Freya struck with you. If you'd told me when we first met I would have judged you terribly. Not as badly as you were making out, but it wouldn't have counted in your favor."

"And how about now?"

"I couldn't give a flying fuck," I said and his face broke out into a broad grin. "Being at the cabin, meeting you… everything else, it's given me perspective. I feel like for the first time it's okay to just let myself be happy. It's okay not to be so goal oriented or focused on my career or even be so tightly wound. I mean, that's the reason I moved here, isn't it?" I brought his hand around and kissed the knuckles. "I'm sorry for sending you away without giving us the chance to talk about it. It was shitty and cowardly of me."

"I should have told you sooner. I'm sorry I didn't. And I'm sorry that your scary-as-fuck sheriff friend was the one who broke it to you."

"She's not scary!"

"Yes, she is. I see her and I swear my balls' automatically start shrinking inside my body."

I burst out in loud laughter and his hand slipped over to cover my mouth.

"Shhh. This is a hospital, you know," he scolded. He removed his hand. "I'm going to kiss you now."

"My breath could probably knock out a horse," I replied, too tired to lift my head off the pillow but still possessing enough energy to feel a rush of excitement.

"I couldn't give a flying fuck." He leaned forward to press an insistent, though soft kiss against my lips. His warm tongue slipped forward to caress my own, and I palmed the scruff on his cheek. The room, my condition, and even the events of the last day all seemed to fade away. I let myself relax.

***

I awoke with the seven am round of observations. I'd slept undisturbed by my nurse's comings and goings over the last few hours, an extra dose of Endone helping to knock me out. I looked across the room to Eric, asleep and curled awkwardly in the vinyl armchair in the corner, the blanket draped over him.

"I need to use the bathroom," I whispered to the nurse. Nurse Courtney nodded, unhooking me from machines and passing me the crutches. She hovered as I crutched to the small en suite in the opposite corner of the room. I relieved myself and followed it up with washing my hand and face and then brushing my teeth.

"How are your pain levels?" she asked, after helping me back into bed.

"About a 3," I said, lifting my leg back up onto the pillows that were elevating it. "I'm okay. My toes are throbbing and burning on this foot."

"That's normal. You're nearly due for your next round of pain relief, so that will take the edge off." She pulled the covers on me. "Is he really Eric Northman?" she asked quietly, nodded towards his sleeping form.

"He is."

"Oh my…" She flushed. "I had no idea."

"You've read his books?"

"I own a copy of every single one of his books. Do you think he'd mind autographing them?" She chewed her lip hopefully and fiddled with my fluid line, hooking it back up to the cannula.

"It depends on whether you let me stay another night," Eric said from across the room, causing the nurse to jolt in surprise.

"Well…my shift is about to end, but I'm back in tonight, so I think it can be arranged. We have some chairs like the one you're on which fold out into a small bed. I can see if the orderly will bring one in for you."

"You've got a deal." He winked at her and she turned to me, red patches rapidly rising along the column of her neck.

"Wait till I tell my husband about this!" She left the room with a pep in her step.

"Perks, huh?" I said turning back to Eric, enjoying the way the morning light illuminated him. His hair was rumpled and his smile was dopey with sleep. Unexpected warmth crept through my chest.

He snorted. "I think I'm offended she didn't recognize me, to begin with."

"It's probably because you look homeless," I laughed. "Nothin' at all like the author portrait on the back your books."

Eric ran a hand through his beard scruff looking vaguely offended. "I'll have you know I grew this roadkill with my own blood, sweat, and tears like a real man."

I sat up in bed and shifted my leg pillows over and scooched over the edge of the mattress as far as I could.

"Well, we've got an hour before the nurse comes back, Mr. Manly Man. If you wanna hop in for a cuddle now's your chance."

He threw back his blanket and jumped in quick as a wink. One leg wrapped itself around my good leg, his other knee dug into my thigh while his head rested against mine. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but it was nice. I closed my eyes.

"I missed you," he said, absently rubbing my stomach. "I left and wanted to come back straight away. I felt like the biggest piece of shit. Pam kept stopping me… She said to give you time. All I wanted was to book the first flight back."

"I'm glad you're here now."

"Me too." I felt his warm lips at my temple.

"Two weeks is a long time after a girl gets used to getting her womanly needs being met daily." I elbowed him gently in the side.

Eric let out a low chuckle and his hand traveled up to massage my breast. I told him off half-heartedly but let him leave it there. Eric asked me to recount the whole tale on the mountain with Eurynomos.

"I feel like my whole life was turned up on its head this week," I said quietly after I finished speaking.

"You went through something unbelievable."

"Not just that... I had lunch with Niall Brigant a few days ago." I shifted a little to face him better. "He's Claudine's grandfather. The Brigants were part of a group of family friends here back in the hey-day. Niall owns the main ski resort on Mt. Rayner." I asked Eric to reach across and retrieve the letter sitting on the nightstand. I unfolded it and held it up so we could both see it. "At lunch, he told me he was my grandfather… He and Gran had an affair which resulted in two children, my dad and my Aunt Linda."

"Wow. That's heavy."

"You're tellin' me..." I sighed. "Things haven't been great since you've left."

He gently tilted my chin and captured my lips with a soft kiss. "The worst is behind you now," he murmured, as we parted.

"I hope to heck that's true." I shifted the letter closer to him so he could read it.

"I don't have my glasses on me," he apologized and so I quietly recited the letter to him, then described Niall's visit the day before and Claudine's admission.

"I think it's romantic," he said, folding the letter and sliding it back into its envelope for me.

"You think?"

"Unrequited love, they still went for it, even though they knew from the beginning it would never work out. Willing to risk everything they had to experience love until the risk became too great. He gave her children that would never be his own. Great love, great sacrifice."

I curled my nose. They had both been unfaithful. They'd broken their marriage vows. And I was clearly not a sentimental romantic in the way Eric was.

"But Gran always seemed so… righteous. Her morals were as strong as her backbone. Or so I thought. Hard to imagine she was young and in love, doing the opposite of everything she believed to be right. She worked hard to instill her values onto me and I've always looked up to her. But now… I wonder if I ever knew her at all?"

"Maybe those values were strengthened out of shame. She wanted better for you."

"Maybe. I wonder if she still loved him even after Grandpa died?"

"She probably she still loved Niall but maybe not as much as she loved you and your brother." He tucked some hair behind my ear and nuzzled against my neck.

"I always thought I knew who I was and where I came from," I said with a sigh. "Now I feel like I'm spinning cartwheels through clouds. I don't know which way is up and can't grab a hold of anything."

"It's okay to feel out of control sometimes."

"Not for a control freak," I complained sourly.

"You're not such a control freak these days. It's okay to let go sometimes, Sookie. The world isn't your responsibility."

"Stop being so reasonable," I grumbled. "Can't you just make sympathetic sounds and tell me I'm right?" I felt him shake with laughter, and I elbowed him playfully again. "Did you sort everything out with Freyda?"

He shrugged. "She's being a bitch and dragging her heels. I don't know what her fucking problem is. I told her she can have the house and she still wasn't happy. She didn't even show up for the meeting, she just sent her lawyer."

I tutted. "That's B.S. Who's your lawyer and what have they advised?"

Eric went through the details and I moved the electric bed so we were sitting up. He was all arms and legs poking me so he climbed out and sat back on the chair beside the bed.

"Leave it with me," I said when he was done explaining. "Don't make any more contact with her side. You've paid more money into the mortgage than she's contributed and you paid the majority of the deposit, even if it was all in her name. It's just as much yours as hers. Moreso, perhaps. You need better representation, too. Sounds like your lawyer is just phoning it in. My boss has contacts in New York. I'll get it sorted for you."

"Ah, the control freak returns." He smirked, leaning back in the chair, crossing his hands behind his head.

My face flushed and I groaned in embarrassment. "Sorry… You're right."

"No, please keep going. It's hot. My book's nearly finished, this could be all it takes to write an explosive ending."

After breakfast, a petite blonde woman in heels strode in, tray of coffees in one hand, fancy leather handbag in the other. She set the coffees down next to my mostly untouched breakfast tray and looked at me critically. Despite the fact it was only eight am and we were in a middle-of-nowhere ski-resort town, she was dressed like she was ready to walk the streets of Manhattan during fashion week. She unbuttoned her knee-length woolen coat and hung it over the foot of the bed. Underneath the coat, she was dressed in cream slacks, tall heels, and a nude colored silk blouse.

"Sookie, this is Pam. Friend and agent. Pam this is Sookie." Eric sat up and grabbed a coffee from the tray.

"They're all black, sugar sachets are in the middle compartment," Pam said to him coolly, not taking her eyes off me. "Nice to meet you, Sookie. I've heard many things."

"Nice to meet you too and thank you for the coffee," I said, unperturbed by her demeanor. I reached over and grabbed a cup. I was no stranger to the stone cold bitch routine. I'd mastered it myself in court. "It's that a Hermes Kelly?" I asked, nodding to her bag.

"Vintage," she remarked, picking up her own cup. "You have taste, at least."

I tried not to let my shock show. That was easily a cool ten or fifteen grand worth of handbag right there. I wasn't so much fashion conscious, more a handbag admirer – especially anything Hermes Kelly. I always thought they looked suitably feminine while still being lawyer-ly. Not that I could ever justify spending that much on a handbag. I hated parting with the hundreds of dollars I spent on my one good leather handbag, and that was my present to myself after I was made permanent at the firm.

"So, Eric told you everything?" I asked.

"I believe so." She raised a thin brow in a very Eric-esque way and nodded. Eric confirmed, telling me Pam forced him to dish during their road trip.

"And?" I prompted.

"And I think you've either dragged him into your insane fever dream, or you're the real deal. I wanted to meet you before deciding."

"And now you've met me?"

Her lips quirked and she crossed her arms, looking me over head to toe. Even if it was just an act, she was gorgeous and intimidating in more ways than just her demeanor. "I haven't decided yet. Either way, it will make a hell of a great book."

"Heck no. No story."

She shrugged like my answer didn't matter and Eric got up to move the vinyl armchair over from the corner for her to sit on. She perched and crossed her legs at the knee.

"I heard you found something out there," she said.

"She found the missing girls," Eric said, pinching the remains of my breakfast, most of which I'd not eaten. "The demon led her there."

"We don't know for sure they're the girls. I did find the remains of four bodies." I gave Pam a brief run-down of what happened on the mountain two days earlier. It wasn't so much that I wanted her to believe, but I wanted her validation if it meant Eric's closest friend approved of me. "You think I'm crazy," I said when I finished up.

Her pale eyes narrowed and she shook her head in a slow, considering way. "No, I believe you."

"Really?"

"Who am I to define the limits of what is or isn't real? No one knows for sure." She set her coffee down on the table. "The day my grandmother died, my aunt said she received a phone call from her. The line was full of static, but she heard my grandmother say 'Don't forget the alstroemerias.' and then the line disconnected. My aunt hung up and tried to call her back to no avail. They found my grandmother in her home that evening; she'd passed away in her sleep in the very early hours of the morning. Long before my aunt got that phone call. My aunt said my grandmother had mentioned once in passing that she wanted bouquets of alstroemerias at her funeral. I guess she didn't want Auntie Ree to forget."

"Whoa," said Eric. "You never told me that before." Pam shrugged her delicate shoulders.

"But what I've experienced goes a little beyond sweet ghostly phone calls. I wouldn't blame you for doubting me."

Pam pinned me in place with her gaze for a long moment before responding, "Sookie, I believe you are what sleeping people call insane, and what awake people call…. awake."

"Huh," I said, letting the words sink in. "I like you. You'd make an excellent lawyer."

Eric and Pam both smirked at exactly the same time in exactly the same way like a pair of blonde and evil fraternal twins.

"You're right, I would," she sniffed. "The career just isn't glamorous enough for my tastes."


	26. The Darker the Shadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa! Totally forgot to upload the last two chapters here (I've only been updating my FF account). I'm so sorry! I changed my editing/posting routine - that's my excuse, at least.  
> Anyways - plus side, you get Chapter 26 right now, Chapter 27 tomorrow-ish, and then Chapter 28 the following day...

"What the fuck is he doing here?" Tara asked as she strode in with her promised coffee and oliebollen. Eric sat up in his chair, his posture stiffening.

"He's here because I want him to be here, and I don't want to hear otherwise from you, Tara." I gave her a significant look. A 'we'll talk about this later' look.

"And who's this? His bitch-ass wife?"

"Tara!" I hissed.

Pam threw her head back and laughed. "The mountain air sure does a number on everyone here, doesn't it?"

"That doesn't answer my question." Tara planted a hand on her hip, looking imposing in her full uniform. Pretty typical of Tara, immediately jumping to my defense; she even knew what Freyda looked like after seeing the wedding photo and she still wanted to interrogate Pam on my behalf.

"Tara, this is Eric's friend and agent, Pam. Pam, this is Tara, friend and the sheriff of this county." I reached out for the bag in her hand. "Now, gimme. I need me something deep fried and sugary." Tara passed the bag over and gave Pam the serious side eye.

"Just a friend," Pam said, brow arching under Tara's scrutiny. "Eric wasn't born with the right equipment to interest me."

Tara nodded, satisfied with her response, and after brief withering look directed at Eric she turned back to me. "How you doin', girl?"

"Better," I said after swallowing a mouthful of doughnut.

"Good. This isn't a social call, sorry. Got some time to go over those maps with me?"

We cleared my table and spread a detailed map of the park across it. Pam loaned me her phone since it had the biggest screen out of everyone's, and we used it to work out the location of the cave from a combination of Google earth images and going off the map. Tara worked out a tentative trail with her red pen.

"Right," she said capping the pen. "I'm ready. I've got a forensics team on standby. The chopper is waiting to drop me and Kevin out on the mountain, but it'll still be a good hike up to the cave."

"The bones are all there waiting," I said, sensing her worry. "Just go."

She gave me a tight hug. "You just worry about yourself, Sook. When Kevin and I find the bodies we can call the feds and hand the case off to them. I imagine I'll be assisting them, but for the most part, my job will be done." She straightened up and turned to Eric with an accusing finger. "And you. I don't know what your deal is yet, but don't you even think about doing anything to hurt my girl. I'm a black belt in tae kwon do and I've competed nationally and placed. I'll fuck your ass up."

Pam started laughing again and I manage to swallow my mouthful without choking but, to my surprise, Eric stood with a determined and unyielding set to his expression and thrust his hand across my bed to where Tara was standing.

"I was stupid. I'd like to blame my gender, but it's all on me. She shouldn't have found out what she did from anyone other than myself. I count myself lucky to know Sookie, and frankly, I probably deserve a good ass kicking generally speaking, but you have my word, I'll never knowingly do anything to hurt her."

Tara let him dangle for a second longer than comfortable before clasping his hand and shaking it. "Good."

Eric and Pam stayed a little while longer before Pam dragged Eric away to shower, change, and eat. She seemed delighted by the whole visit. "This is like watching her very own soap opera in real life," muttered Eric before kissing me goodbye.

A nurse came and helped me change out of my awful hospital gown, then shower and dress into a clean pair of pajama bottoms and my favorite old Tulane Uni t-shirt I used to sleep in. The nurse had changed my sheets while I was showering so when I climbed back into bed I felt the closest thing to human since the beginning of the whole ordeal.

Dr. Ramil came back during her morning rounds and unwound my foot bandage to examine the damage.

"Your ankle looks good," she said, gently pulling up my pajama leg. "Considerable bruising, but the swelling has decreased."

"My toes?"

"Not so bad. Would you like to see?" At my nod, she sat the electric bed up so I had a better vantage and then peeled the rest of the gauze back. "Bit of swelling here," she pointed to the tips of my toes, "and blisters. There is still good color. Still pink. All good signs." She retrieved some clean bandages and began to rewrap them. "I think you'll be safe to begin hydrotherapy on the affected foot this afternoon."

Eric wandered back into the room, clean-shaven and dressed in his usual fitted black jeans, white t-shirt and leather jacket. My heart thudded when his face broke into a smile.

"Is this your husband, Susannah?"

Eric put the bag he was carrying on the wide windowsill next to Claudine's flowers and from behind the doctor's back, pulled a silly face at the question.

"No," I said carefully, trying not to squirm. "I'm a widow. This is Eric, my friend." Eric lowered himself smoothly into the visitor seat beside my bed.

"Nice to meet you," he said flashing her his trademark dazzling smile. Flirt. "I'm actually Susannah's boyfriend."

Dr. Ramil raised her brows and turned back to me. "Alright, then. Well, I'll ask physiotherapy to arrange a hydrotherapy session for you this afternoon. Frostbite is reasonably common here this time of year, the hospital is well equipped to treat it."

The rest of the day moved quickly from there. Niall visited again in the morning, meeting Eric for the first time. Eric seemed to make a favorable impression of him, particularly when I told Niall of Eric's profession. They talked a lot about publishing, it seemed like Niall had his fingers in many pots. Turned out he'd once owned a sizeable share of publishing company back in the 80s and early 90s.

I asked Niall to share a few stories of Gran that I might not know, and he shared a few sweet memories. How involved she was in the community when they would come to stay. Back before the kids, she would help organize local dances at the hall and big community days at the lake. He said she was also an old hand at poker. He chuckled as he spoke of the poker nights at the cabin, Gran often wiping everyone off the table in the short space of an evening. She was unexpected, he said, people would see her sweet southern belle act and never see her coming.

"She won a beautiful oil painting once," he said; he was reclined back against his chair, nursing a mug of tea Eric had procured for him. "She was most pleased with that. I helped her nail it above the fireplace."

"That's was her?" I gasped. "That painting is still there. It's gorgeous. She always told me Grandpa Mitchell won it!"

"It was in the possession of Johnny Saunders'. Worth quite a bit of money, mind you. And he was livid he'd lost it to a woman," Niall chuckled.

"She sounds like a bit of a trail-blazer," Eric remarked.

"Oh yes," Niall replied. "She was wearing trousers when it still wasn't socially accepted and she did it proudly."

"It's funny you say that," I said, thinking back. "She always wore long skirts and dresses back home in Louisiana, in fact, I think she wouldn't have been caught dead in anything but. Yet the second she'd arrive here it would be shorts or slacks all vacation, with the occasional dress if we were going out. I never really thought much about it, I just considered it her vacation wardrobe."

"I think she felt more like herself while she was here."

"I can understand that." I smiled. Seeing both Eric and Niall smile back at me caused something deep within me to click into place.

Hydrotherapy was nowhere near as exciting as I'd envisioned. I was helped into a wheelchair and pushed down the hallway to the lifts and then down a floor to the physical therapy rooms. I then sat with my feet in a small whirlpool bath for twenty minutes. The physical therapist said it would aid with sloughing away any dying skin and also promote tissue regeneration. I wouldn't let Eric accompany me. I still didn't want him to see my gross foot, which after twenty minutes in the warm tub, actually didn't look or feel as gross as I expected it to.

When I was wheeled back up to my room afterward, I had more visitors. Octavia, Amelia, and Phillip. Octavia wrapped me in a warm sandalwood hug and Phillip nodded at me with a soft smile. Eric moved quickly to help me to bed.

I retold the story to my three friends. Octavia was absolutely rapt, her eyes shining as I described Eurynomos with great detail.

"That is incredible, Sookie. You were smart to follow your intuition and meet him head-on."

"Smart to follow her intuition?" Eric repeated, appalled. "She almost died. She's lucky she survived the night."

"It was her fate. It would have followed her until she submitted to it."

Eric clenched the armrest of his chair, looking madder than a wet hen. I half expected to see steam creep from his ears.

"She is lucky," Amelia interjected nervously, her eyes darting between the two. "And smart."

"Excuse me. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm here in the room with you. And it was stupid, but you're right Octavia, it wouldn't have left me alone until I found that cave. I know that now. I was ill prepared."

Phillip caught my eye after that, his head tilting to the side, lips pursed. He was a man of few words, but I could see the wheels turning. I remembered our talk in the garden many weeks ago. Right now, I wanted to ask what he thought about it all, but I didn't think he'd be willing to share his opinion in front of others.

Amelia and Octavia had prepared a small gift bag full of herbal tinctures and teas to aid my healing, which I thanked them profusely for. Generally, I was a big proponent of modern medicine, but with my toes on the line I was prepared to try anything that might help, provided it didn't get in the way of my doctor's orders. And Amelia sat on the bed next to me showing me pictures on her phone of Bonnie, who seemed to be lapping up all the attention from her. Looked like Amelia was letting her sleep on her bed too, big spoiled pup.

Phillip spent the last part of their visit by the window with his back to us and when they left in a round of goodbyes and hugs he pressed a folded piece of paper in my hand. He gave me a significant look as he bid me goodbye.

I wasn't sure why, but I didn't let on to anyone - not even Eric - what had transpired. I slipped the folded paper under my thigh and waited until Eric left for the cafeteria at lunch before opening the small piece of paper, torn from a pocket-sized notebook.

_There's a shroud around you that wasn't there before. Five shadows. I can't explain it._

I stared at the hastily penciled words until my gaze became unfocused and the letters blurred together. I looked out the window and swallowed thickly. It was a bleak view outside onto the carpark. I couldn't explain what Phillip sensed either, but it worried me greatly. I put more stock in his words than Octavia's.

And after Tara called that evening from the station, I had an inkling of their significance.

"We fuckin' found it, Sookie," exclaimed my bad-mouthed friend. "It's unbelievable that you even went that deep in the cave! Forensics were all over it, and then crawling across the mountainside all day. The feds are on their way in, bringing their own crew; hopefully, there'll be a handover tomorrow. But it's a shit-show here at the station. Someone alerted the media and they're arriving by the busload."

"You're jokin'."

"Nuh-uh. This is the kind of thing they eat up. Missing teen girls, a twenty-year-old cold case bungled by local investigators and overlooked by the FBI. Whoever alerted the media also told them of your involvement, so be prepared. They'll love the idea that a pretty young lawyer got lost one night on a mountain and stumbled upon this."

"They'll pick me apart!" I had an awful vision of the very, very weak story I told about how I came to discover the cave being pulled to pieces on national television. I was just thankful that Tara knew and trusted me enough not to doubt my words.

"Maybe. Just shut them down, Stackhouse-lawyer style. And really, you're not even the most newsworthy part of it all."

"What do you mean by that?" I asked, small tendrils of fearful anticipation taking root in me.

"So we found three skulls, and with the one you brought back, that makes four. But as we catalogued the bones, we found the remains of five different bodies. Five."

My mouth went dry. Five. Five deaths. Five murders. I looked across to my nightstand where the note sat, still folded. Five shadows. It didn't make sense, but I was no longer naïve enough to confuse an omen staring me straight in the face for simple coincidence.


	27. Outsiders and Outliers

"So, tell me about these dreams."

"I'm not really sure where to start."

"Well, how often have you been experiencing them? Are they recurring dreams, or is each unique?"

"All night, every night. And they're different. Well, that's not entirely true – they sometimes have recurring elements. Like, the same style clock on the wall. Or a painting or view that I recognize from one dream to another. Or maybe I'm walking down the same street as my last dream but this time I'm going to a different place."

"Are they vivid?"

"Extremely."

"Give me an example..."

"Everything is highly detailed to the smallest of degrees. It's like watching some surreal arthouse movie in HD. If, say, within my dream, I'm in a kitchen and I pick up a plate then I would see the exact detailing of the pattern around the edges and the scuff marks where knives and forks have marked the plate over years of use.

"Last night, I dreamed I was standing in my apartment, one I don't actually own in real life but it was mine all the same, and Eric and I were looking at a large wall filled with watercolor paintings which I'd done myself. They were abstract and so Eric asked me about one particular painting. We stood very close to it as I described the painting to him. I remember the sunset colors, the brush strokes, the shading on the rocks."

"It was a mountain?"

"No, a beach scene."

"Interesting…" Dr. Matthew Mahler began jotting down notes in his book. "It's a common side effect to have disturbed sleep on the prescription pain medication you're taking."

"I thought disturbed meant restless."

"Are these dreams not waking you?" he asked, looking up over his reading glasses, knowing they did exactly that.

"Point taken," I said offering him a wilting smile. "Those dreams though, like the one with the paintings, they're okay. Strange and pointless but okay. It's the other kind."

"Alright, describe the bad dreams for me. Start with one you remember most clearly."

"I'm in a room and there's barely any light. I look up to see the ceiling light off, but there's a small lamp on the floor emitting a dim orange glow. It's cold as a wedge and I know I'm in here because I'm waiting for someone to come back with something. I look around and I'm sitting on an old floral couch in an otherwise empty room. The floors are concrete but there are patches covered in pieces of old carpet, that swirly shag-pile kind popular in the 70s and 80s, and the walls are stonework." I laughed softly a little. "See what I mean by detailed? …Anyway, I look to my right and there's a girl; she's pale and looking at me in a very concerned way like she knows something bad is about to happen.

"She looks to the door with a terrified expression and I hear this godawful screeching sound, like metal grating against metal. I grab her hand and tell her we have to run, and I know if she doesn't move and we don't leave, then we die. And she says to me, 'You need to be quiet. Just because you're dead doesn't mean you need to wake the others. They're sleeping.' I look down at my hands and I realize I am in fact dead. My skin is pale and the reason I feel so cold is because I'm lifeless. I hear footsteps behind my shoulder and so I turn…" I trailed off, tracing my lips absently with my fingers.

"And that's when you wake up?"

I nodded.

"It sounds like an awful experience to go through nightly. But I wouldn't read too much into the dreams. There's danger in placing too much significance on them. Contrary to those popular dream dictionaries, most dreams are random images and ideas plucked from your daily life and represented in different contexts." Matthew reached over and filled a glass of water from a tall pitcher, then handed the glass to me. "They're a way of unpacking and dealing with emotions and experiences. It's not a big leap to think your recent trauma on the mountain, and your subsequent discovery of the girls' bodies, is linked to your bad dreams now. Couple that with the grief of losing your husband, then well, I believe nightmares are a very normal and natural reaction for anyone to have."

"I just wish the memory of them would fade…"

"They will. Give it time and work on your mindfulness. If you're still struggling by your next appointment we can explore DBT again. And, there are also other alternatives to the pain medicine you're on. Your doctor would be able to recommend something suitable for you."

"Yeah, that's the plan. I see her next week."

"Now last time we talked you said you were struggling with communication skills. How has that improved now that Eric has returned…?"

Eric was waiting for me after my therapy session, and I crutched alongside him back to the car. He didn't ask how the appointment went, bless him. I felt drained and I was tired. After spending three restless nights in the hospital, I had signed myself out and been home for only one sleepless night at the cabin. I was feeling unspun.

We stopped by the general store in Douglas and Terry's son, Coby, met us at the door, mischievous grin on his face and bag of candy in hand. He shouted out a 'hi' before tearing away as his younger sister emerged from a nearby aisle running after him. Arlene was at the counter, brow pinched and rifling through a wad of dog-eared paperwork.

"Oh, hey Sookie," she said, looking up briefly before tucking the papers under the counter. Her red hair was frazzled and falling out from the bottom of her limp ponytail. "Good to see you up and about."

"Hi, Arlene." I briefly introduced her to Eric, and she smiled distractedly at him, before yelling out to the kids to stop running around like maniacs.

"Where's Terry?" I didn't often see Arlene or the kids in the store. I knew she managed the books for the store, but she also worked part-time at a salon in Chester. There was a crash from the section near the candy and Lisa let out a wailing cry.

"Coby, I swear to God! If you two do not get out back right now, I'll be confiscating your PlayStation until school goes back. Don't think I won't!" She sighed and looked back at me mouthing the word 'sorry'. She left her post to usher the kids into the back office. "Terry's takin' time off," she said when she returned. Eric was already wandering the aisles with a basket and my shopping list.

"Really? Cause of Katie?"

"Oh, Sook." Her eyes watered over. "He's a mess. He's not sleeping, not eating. I haven't seen him since yesterday morning… I don't even know where he slept last night. The feds have been hounding us for days. He's losing his marbles. He hasn't had an episode in years… but now?" She shook her head slowly and blew her nose into a tissue.

"Have they brought him in for official questioning?"

"No, but they came a couple days back and we let them in, thinking we were being helpful, updating us on the case and all. They questioned him the entire time like he was a suspect! Just poking him like a bear. They're evil! Don't they know that's his half-sister?! And they were acting like he killed her! Like he killed all of them! His heart is breaking all over again. Then they were back yesterday and tore our place apart looking for clues. Thank God he wasn't home."

"Did they have a warrant?" I frowned. Did Tara know about this?

She shook her head. "I didn't even think to ask. I just let them in. He's innocent! Why are they treating him like this?"

"Can you afford a lawyer?" I asked quietly, darting a quick look over my shoulder as the bell rang on the store door. An older man walked through, tipping his cap to us, calling out a greeting.

"We have a bit of savings," she said after calling out a welcome to the customer. "Just some tips I've been squirreling away in a tin on top of the fridge at home."

"Find the money, get a lawyer. You can't afford not to."

She gasped into her tissue and began crying again. "You think they think he's the murderer?"

"I don't know. But don't let them in unless they have a warrant. Don't answer their questions unless you have a lawyer present. Don't do anything without talking to your lawyer first." I could see how Terry would be an obvious suspect to them. Eric appeared at my elbow, basket laden with groceries. I shot him a worried smile.

"Everything okay?" he asked, looking between the two of us.

"It's fine. I'll explain later," I replied quietly. As Arlene rung up our groceries, I thought back to all the details from Katie Bellefleur's files. From memory, Terry had returned from the gulf sometime in '93. That was before the first girl, Jade went missing. I wasn't sure his exact age, but I'd place Terry in his early 20s back then.

When we got back into the truck, Eric turned to me. "It's not your responsibility, Sookie," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"You're not investigating anymore. You've done your part. In fact, you've contributed more to the investigation than anyone. Don't get involved." He pulled out onto the road and we made our way back to my cabin, the snow coming down steadily the further we climbed the hill.

"I'm not getting involved," I said huffily.

"You are. You have that look in your eyes."

"And what look is that?" I crossed my arms.

"The same look you get when you're working on that impossible puzzle."

I slipped my hand out from where it was tucked under my arm and flipped him the bird. He smirked, his point won, and his focus returned to the road.

It occurred to me then that it would've been a good time to tell him about the note Phillip gave me. Communication was the big thing the therapist was banging on about.

I peeked at Eric from the corner of my eye. His blonde hair flopped carelessly to the side and his features were relaxed. Was there any point in telling him? What could he realistically do? What could either of us do about Phillip's note? I'd only just chased one monster out the door… Did I really want to acknowledge the vague chance of more trouble?

When we got home, Eric came around to the passenger side of the truck and opened the door for me. I held out a hand expecting him to help me to my feet but he instead lifted me out with both arms and picked me up, my legs looping around his waist. He kneed the car door shut and pressed me against the it.

"I can basically walk, you know," I laughed. Snow fell down around us, melting as it landed on our cheeks.

"I know." His head dipped to my neck where he became reacquainted with areas that hadn't received nearly enough attention lately. He pressed his hips enjoyably against me and I trailed my fingers along the back of his neck. "We should continue this inside," I sighed.

"Mmm. I'm sure Pam will work out a way to spoil the moment." He nipped at my earlobe and then captured my lips in a deep kiss that brought me back to that day we'd just made out for hours on my bed. When he pulled away, I kissed away a wet snowflake that had landed on his nose.

Despite my protests, Eric carried me into the house and deposited me on the length of kitchen counter beside the sink. Bonnie bounded up to me, letting out an ecstatic bark. I scratched the wiry scruff on her head as Eric brought the groceries in. Pam made her way downstairs passing Eric on his way back out to the truck. She was dressed in what I imagined she thought was 'casual wear' for the snow: a belted coat, cuffed chinos, and lace-up sheepskin ankle boots with a heel too high to ever be practical in the current conditions.

"Your wardrobe is atrocious," she said in lieu of a greeting.

"It's practical," I said as Bonnie settled down on the floor below my feet.

"Practically dismal. I had a good rifle upstairs." If someone told me Eric and Pam were separated at birth I wouldn't have even bothered acting surprised.

"You better not have jumbled up my clothes. I've organized them in a very particular way."

"And that is probably the only respect in which your wardrobe rivals mine," she said. "Do you always wear those boots in public?" Pam opened the fridge, helping herself to a blood orange La Croix from a case that appeared when she arrived with her things yesterday. She pulled out a wine glass from the shelf and decanted the can into it.

I looked down at my outfit, feeling my cheeks flush. It was very basic college girl. Leggings, North Face sweater, uggs, and the requisite messy bun. "I'm only wearing uggs in public because my toes are healing. They're sore and can't stand the cold."

"Uh-huh," she said, flashing me a disbelieving look.

"...I'm probably not Eric's usual type, am I?" I looked back down at myself thinking of Claudine's style and Freyda in her chic wedding gown. Pam tossed the can in the rubbish and sat herself down at the island bench so we could face each other from across the kitchen.

"No. But Eric's had pretty shit tastes in the past." She swirled the drink idly before taking a sip.

"You don't know me, I could fall into that category."

She shook her head, swallowing her mouthful. "I've seen the stuff he's written since he's met you. You are like… the Emile Flöge to his Klimt. Except your fashion sense is terrible. I will fix that." She said it as if it were a generous consideration on her part and I rolled my eyes at her.

"You know, historically speaking, things don't normally work out well for the muse."

"We'll see," she said as Eric walked back in with the final armload of groceries.

"I've got actual wine chilling in the fridge, if you want," I said to Pam. I'd have killed for a glass but the painkillers nixed that idea.

"She's two years sober, don't tempt her," Eric said, unpacking the groceries and gesturing towards Pam with a head of celery. Pam broke off a stalk and narrowed her eyes at him.

"The only time I'm ever tempted is when you fail to submit a manuscript on time." She took a bite of celery.

"Like I'm the only author of yours that's done that."

"The only one that's mattered," she sniped. "Not that either of us will have to worry about future paydays now everything's secured with Universal Pictures. I can finally put that deposit down on that place I want in SoHo."

I gasped and grabbed Eric by the elbow on his way past me to the pantry. "They secured the rights for The Peace Receiver? You didn't tell me that went through!"

"It hasn't exactly been my focus," he said with a shrug.

"Congratulations!" I said, pulling him towards me and planting a kiss on his lips. "That's a really big deal." I hooked my good leg around him so he'd stay put. I felt a growl rumble through his chest and his arms moved under me, smoothly picking me up again.

"Pam, finish unpacking." Eric carried me out of the kitchen and towards the downstairs bedroom I was sleeping in while I healed. "Sookie wishes to congratulate me privately."

He kicked the bedroom door shut behind him, stifling the sounds of Pam's complaints. He deposited me on the bed and with a triumphant smile and stripped me off, pulling off his own clothes at the same time. We laughed and fumbled around until I was spread-eagle on my back and he settled with his head between my legs.

"I'm not sure who's congratulating who right now," I panted out in between the teasing strokes of his tongue.

"Lover, I don't believe you know what a prize you are." His blue eyes were startlingly bright as he looked up at me. My retort was lost as he returned to his task.

We stayed missionary for the entirety of our afternoon romp, a first for us but understandable given I was hardly what you'd consider mobile. Eric was mesmerizing as he moved above me, the pinch of concentration around his eyes, the solid lines of his shoulders and biceps. My hands roamed across his skin, recapturing familiar territory. I reached my peak quickly, and it hit like a dam bursting open inside me. Eric dropped his head to the crook of my neck and came moments later, thrusting hard as he cried out in Swedish. After the shockwaves wore off, he stayed like that on top of me, catching his breath.

"I don't think I can go that long without sex again…" I let out a satisfied sigh, patting him on the butt.

"You think I'm going to let you leave the bed now that I've trapped you?" Eric lifted himself up onto his elbows to look down at me.

"Oh, is that your grand plan? Some opposite version of Misery? Where it's the deranged author that keeps his fan tied to the bed?"

"Ah, yes. Instead of denying you painkillers, I'll deny you orgasms."

"You forget I know your greatest weakness." I poked my fingers under his arms tickling him and he rolled to his side, squirming away with a high pitched laugh.

"You have an unfair advantage." He swiped at my hands.

"Being maimed is hardly an advantage!"

"I meant your incredible rack." He smirked and reached out to fondle me, making it my turn to swipe away wandering hands, though I couldn't stop my smile.

"Words on the street is that I have an ass that won't quit too."

Eric chuckled and pulled me gently into his arms, arranging me so I was facing him nose-to-nose, my head cradled against his arm. He kissed me lazily until I turned into a post-orgasmic warm puddle.

"I like you, Eric," I said softly, brushing a kiss on his lips.

"I like you too," he replied with an easy smile.

"No... I really like you. Thank you for looking after me. I know I'm not the easiest patient."

"Who knew preparing the perfect cup of coffee required so many specific, micro-managed steps?" His expression dimmed for a quiet, contemplative moment. "Do you think your husband would have liked me?"

The question caught me off guard. I tried to imagine what Alcide would've thought of Eric had we met him in a social setting, at a party or a work event. I wondered what Alcide would make of my relationship with Eric, as fleeting as it seemed it would be in the scheme of things.

"Honestly? I think Alcide would've wanted to clock you on the nose."

Eric's brows lifted. "Really?"

"Uh-huh," I said, tracing my finger along the bridge of his nose. "He would've been threatened by your ego and intelligence. Not that he would've ever admitted to that. No, he would have puffed his chest, and then I'm sure you would've said something to purposefully tick him off."

"I don't have an ego." He mock pouted.

"Oh, please. Put that lip away. You might not be on the same level as Kanye West, but you're a best-selling author with a body as hot as Hades. And you're very much aware of it." Like a devil, Eric wiggled his hips against me and I poked him in the ribs in return.

"I think," I said, considering a more serious response. "I think, he would be a little sour about the fact you get to be with me in a way he never could. Without the stress of my work and more…" I gestured between us with a hand searching for the right word. "Relaxed, I s'pose."

"I like you how you are. Your drive and your OCD tendencies." Eric brushed some hair away from where it was clinging to my neck.

"Yeah, but this whole 'living in the moment' thing is a first for me," I said. "You know that morning, the first time I met you? I came storming back here madder than a cut snake and then lay on the couch eating cookies and drinking a beer, absolutely fuming. That is not the Sookie that Alcide knew. Well, maybe the part about me getting mad but the rest of it? No way."

I felt a stab of unease. Would I go back to my old self once I returned to the house in Shreveport? Was my time here at Lake Douglas not so much an extended vacation, but rather a short respite from being Susannah Herveaux, Attorney at Law? I'd simply go home and return to being my overworked, uptight self. Any future relationship would be doomed in the same sort of way mine and Alcide's was.

Or, had these last weeks been formative? Was the drive that propelled me through life slowly starting to wane? I couldn't be certain. I'd thrown myself into the work at the police station and then, when I wasn't sure what I was doing, I started handling administrative duties for Kenya just to help out. There were worrying similarities there from when I was back home.

I missed Desmond in that moment, his jolly nature and kind, unbiased advice. He'd be in Florida this time of year with his wife, but maybe I could shoot him an email.

"You've changed," Eric said, drawing me from my thoughts.

"I don't think I've changed that much…"

A dull ache made itself known behind my ear and around to where my head wound was glued shut. I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. I'd thought about myself and my behavior way too much for one day. Eric tilted my chin up with a forefinger and kissed me again. Yep, the thinking portion of my day was definitely over.


	28. Celebrating Early

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally back! Posting will continue as normal from now on.

The next day was New Years’ Eve, and I found myself hosting morning tea for two FBI agents and one very pissed off sheriff. 

I answered the door still dressed in my puffy cloud print pajamas and ugg boots, and so I ushered the trio in, asking Tara silent questions with my eyes about their unexpected visit that Tara wasn't able to adequately answer without words. Her nostrils flared and her jaw ticked as she stalked in ahead of the agents, showing them the living room. She was not happy. 

I was down to one crutch, and I made my way slowly back to the bedroom I was occupying downstairs and dressed in something more suitable for visitors. I redid my ponytail and crutched out to the kitchen where Tara, bless her heart, was already brewing coffee in the French press and pulling mugs from the wide pull-out drawers under the bench. I grabbed the tin of choc-dipped shortbread that Amelia had sent back with me from her place and managed to hobble back to the living area. 

"I don't appreciate your snooping," I said as I passed Agent Weiss on my way to the dining area. She was perusing the bookshelf, pushing titles apart with the end of her pen. The older brunette smiled politely, turning to me. 

"Not snooping," she said. "I'm a book lover." Yeah, right. 

I'd already talked to Agent Weiss and Agent Lattesta at the hospital back on the 28th and given them my statement on the events leading up to how I found the bodies. I’d hoped that was enough to keep their curiosity at bay. I was a smooth liar when I needed to be, but I absolutely hated doing it. I handled the interview at the time without having to falsify any statements - but it meant I'd had to be purposefully vague.

I led the three to the dining area, where we sat at the large table by the wide windows. Me, with my back to the lake, Tara at the head of the table, and the agents opposite me. Tara served the coffee and explained with false cheer how the agents were hoping to clarify some points from my statement as well as ask a few questions relating to the case. 

I accepted the mug of coffee from Tara. She was still in uniform, but her hair was down, her dark braids pulled back in a low, loose pony. Her smile was accompanied by telling tight lines at the corners of her lips; her façade was too forced to be sincere. My gut told me she was here not because she wanted to be, but because agents wanted me feeling comfortable answering their questions. I’d bet my good leg she was none too happy about it, either. 

"Okay. Why are you really here? Speak plainly," I said to the agents.

Lattesta leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs ankle to knee, his hands resting widely apart on the table. A dominant pose. "You don't like to mince words do you, Mrs. Herveaux?" 

"No. I don't. Not when it comes to matters of the law." 

"You work as a successful attorney back in Louisiana, is that right?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Then you have some understanding of the way the justice system works."

"I'd like to think so, although I'm not a criminal defense lawyer." 

"Estates and Probates administration," Agent Weiss said, reading it directly from her notes.

"That's right. And I’m aware of the one-party consent laws in this state. I would prefer it if you left your recording device on the table where I could see it." 

Agent Lattesta smirked and fished his phone from his pocket placing it between us on the table. He picked up a cookie and bit into it. 

"Tell us again how you came to find the cave,” Weiss prompted, setting her notebook gently on the table.

I recounted the tale again, making sure to hit on all the points I'd covered with them in the hospital. Agent Weiss took down the occasional note, while Agent Lattesta held me in his steely gaze for the entirety of the conversation. 

"Would you call it a lucky happenstance or a simple coincidence that you happened to find the remains in that cave?" Lattesta asked.

"I don't think that constitutes as speaking plainly, now does it Agent Lattesta?" I crossed my arms. "I believe what you're really asking is did I have some clue or some motivation for climbing that mountain?" 

Even Tara sat up straighter in her seat and Agent Lattesta nodded, offering only a grunt. 

"I was staying with a friend, Amelia, the night before I went on my hike," I explained. "We got talking over a few drinks about the missing girls and floating theories around. Here at Lake Douglas, we live on the edge of wilderness. There is a whole lot of nothing stretching out for thousands of miles behind me. We both agreed that the national park was an ideal location for a killer to dump bodies. 

"Contrary to what you might think, I didn't leave the next morning with the express intention of finding them. The idea that I might stumble upon them seemed preposterous. But I woke that morning with the urge to go hiking, to go out and explore. I suppose you could say the conversation sparked something in me. Once I found the cave and discovered what was inside did it begin to make sense. Mt. Ettie is the smallest peak in the national park, I don't even think it technically constitutes a mountain. It's more of a rugged mound of rocks jutting out atop a hill. It's the shortest hike if you take the main trail. But the back of the mountain where the cave is, it's off-trail, slightly steeper and rarely accessed. It's an ideal location to dump a body for someone able-bodied enough to drag them there." 

Agent Lattesta nodded slowly, finally lifting his mug to sip his coffee. Good. He was buying it, and I still hadn't needed to lie yet. Not counting the dozens of lies left out through omission. 

"So do you suspect someone in town to be responsible?" Weiss asked.

"I was a young girl where the disappearances took place. I am in no position to point fingers." 

"Yet you still felt the need to assist Sheriff Du Rone." 

"At her request. I provided administrative assistance rather than any investigative assistance or advice. I believe you'd agree with that, wouldn't you, Sheriff?" 

Tara offered her agreement and turned to the agents. 

"Sookie's right about the location of the cave. It's a suitable dumping ground while still being isolated. I grew up here and spent years exploring those woods and I never even knew it existed. It points toward someone with a good knowledge of the area." 

"A local," said Weiss. "Someone who has lived and worked in the area for a long time. I'm told you're friendly with Terry and Arlene Bellefleur, Sookie. What is your opinion of Terry?"

The questions continued while they slowly tried to extricate everything I knew about him. How long have you known him? How does he act or react in social situations? Is he a good father? Have you seen him experience a PTSD episode? 

These were questions all geared towards developing the narrative they were building. Journalists did the same thing, focusing on key pieces of information which they sewed together like constellations in the night sky - an attempt to form a picture that may or may not be there. Ask enough pointed biased questions then you start to hear the answer you want. Before you know it, you’re staring at a greatly exaggerated picture. Have you seen how little astrological constellations resemble their attributed image? We'd learned about this phenomenon in the criminal law units I took at Tulane. Verification bias. That was the term for it. Listen and look at all the pieces of evidence that suit your narrative and ignore the ones that go against it, and suddenly you have a pretty convincing, albeit potentially false, picture.

I answered the agents with the barest information possible. Agent Lattesta's jaw clenching more and more with every non-answer I gave. I understood my rights and I knew I wasn't impeding their investigation with my non-answers. I told them how long I knew him and the nature of his relationship with myself and my family growing up, but offered nothing of use regarding my opinions on his personality or behavior. 

"What about Bill Compton?" Agent Weiss asked next. "Would you consider him to be a friend of yours?" 

"He's not a close friend but we're friendly." 

“He has a very intimate knowledge of the area, given the history project he’s working on for the National Parks Department,” Tara said. Agent Lattesta and Weiss both shot her a terse look. 

“I suppose you want me to tell you about the night he picked me and Tara up after the lake party.” It was my turn to shoot Tara a terse look. I didn’t bother waiting for an answer before continuing, “Tara is better equipped to tell you that story, which I’m sure she already has. I have the barest recollection of that night.” 

Another ten minutes of frustrating questioning and I was at my limit. 

“Alright, I think I’ve answered everything I can for you," I said, picking up my crutch, readying to stand. "You can email me if you have further questions. Now. What I’d like to know is if they’ve confirmed the remains in the caves belong to the missing girls.” 

The agents shared an uneasy look before Tara groaned and slapped an open palm on the table. “For God’s sake. Sookie isn’t going to run around and tell anyone.” She turned to me. “The media won’t know anything until the new year, so you have to keep it quiet. Understand?” 

I nodded.

“I can tell you the four skulls are female and teenaged, the headless remains has also been identified as female. The wet and alkali conditions of the cave mean most of their clothes and footwear has basically dissolved over the years, but we have some good evidence there. Any evidence is good compared to none. Animals have picked the skeletons clean, too. So, while it’s safe to say it’s the girls, we don’t have complete confirmation. That will take time.”

“The forensic dentist is on vacation at the moment,” Weiss said. “He’ll be back early next week. A forensic technician will accompany the remains to head office to complete the identification there.” She smiled and got to her feet, gathering her things. 

I saw Tara and the agents out the door, but Lattesta lingered over the threshold before twisting around to face me. Voice lowered, he leaned close to me, “I accept your story, but something stinks.” 

“Well it’s not me, Agent. I stand by my statement.” My heart raced but I shrugged and smiled in an unaffected manner.

“I can’t ignore intuition.” 

“You can when it leads you toward a dead end. Best of luck with your investigation and happy new year.” I closed the door and restrained myself from pulling the deadbolt shut too. I palmed the cool metal until I heard their car start and pull away. Jesus. I rested my forehead against the door, waiting until the racing of my heart and mind slowed. I handled that well. As well as I could have. I wasn't fooled, Lattesta would be back hassling me before too long.

I shuffled across to the downstairs bathroom and examined my foot. The three smallest toes were still pink, a little swollen, showing signs of beginning to blister. When Dr. Ramil examined me the morning of the day I came home, she said she suspected it was only first-degree frostbite. Painful, annoying, unpleasant but ultimately no long-term effects. I hoped so. The affected toes still felt mostly numb. I wiggled them. 

I showered carefully, sitting on the little plastic stool Eric had purchased for me. I heard the front door open and the distinctive murmur of Pam and Eric talking as they let themselves in. I was out with the towel wrapped around me and leaning against the basin brushing the knots out of my damp hair when Eric stuck his head in. 

“How are you doing?” 

“Fine,” I replied, working through a tangle at the back of my hair as gently as my patience would allow. I was tired after my morning, I’d tell him about the agents later.

“Here,” he said, taking the brush from my hand and standing behind me. 

I stared at my face in the reflection as he worked through my tangles. I was still ruddy and pink from the shower. The shadows under my eyes were not at all dissimilar from the shadows under Eric’s eyes when I first met him. Dark crescent moons highlighting a hollowness in my eyes.

“What do you see when you look at me in the mirror?”

Eric pressed a kiss on my shoulder. “Great beauty,” he said with a wink. He finished and handed the brush back to me. 

“Anything out of the ordinary?” 

He gave me a quizzical look through the mirror’s reflection and then tilted his head to the side. “Nope. All normal.” I felt his fingers begin to lightly play with the edge of the towel near my bottom. I laughed a little and swatted at them.

“I feel like… I look different,” I said. I remembered how Gran appeared after Aunt Linda had died. Gran had lived through the untimely passing of both her children. Maybe the greatest tragedy that could ever befall a mother. And she wore a mask after Linda’s death. I saw it. A façade of normality with the shadow of grief flickering underneath. A reticular image, you just had to look at her from the right perspective to see her burden. She carried the secrets of their heritage to their graves and hers. The enormity of it pressed on my shoulders like cold hands.

“Different how?” 

“Like…” I swallowed. “Like I don’t recognize myself.” I stared hard at my features. There was something different that I couldn’t square away.

“You look the same to me.”

“Really?” I smoothed down a patch of hair near my ear that was determined to curl. “It feels like… like there’s a second person looking back at me. Like she knows something I don’t. Like…” Like she’s standing with the shadows of five ghosts. 

Eric drew me into a hug, turning me away from the mirror. “You’ve suffered a trauma. A lot has happened. You need to rest your mind as well as your body.” He kissed me until my toes began to curl. He released me with a flourish and smirked at my flustered response. “I’ll help you back to your room now.” 

He lifted me up and over his shoulder as I squealed in protest. He smacked my bottom playfully and marched me through the living area and straight to our temporary bedroom. He might be an oaf and an ass when he wanted to be, but Eric sure knew how to distract a girl at the right times. 

* * *

“Don’t look now,” Tara hissed across the table. “Here’s comes Special Agent Dildo Baggins and his accomplice, Agent Bitch Face.” 

The table burst into a chorus of laughter and I scowled at Tara, looking over my shoulder to see the two agents in plain clothes standing by the entrance of the dining area waiting for the hostess to seat them. We were at Robbie’s having dinner and drinks before making our way up the mountain for the New Year’s event at Niall’s resort. The emphasis being on drinks.

“That’s no way to talk about your colleagues, Tara,” I admonished when I turned back. “Even if Lattesta is a douchebag. Agent Weiss seems nice.” 

J.B. grinned and slung his arm over the back of his wife’s chair. “Not according to Tara. She kept me up half the night bitching and moaning about those two.” 

“Enough – no more work talk. I promised myself.” Tara threw back half of her beer with a grimace and helped herself to another piece of garlic bread. “I’m off duty all night and I’m making the most of it by glutting myself on everything loaded with carbs that’s within arm's reach before I have to worry about sticking to resolutions tomorrow.”

“Here, here.” Amelia said raising her glass of beer. As we lifted our glasses in toast too, I noticed the saucy look Pam shot Amelia across the table and the equally flirty look Amelia returned. But it was Tara who had the biggest grin of all. Just about everyone had stopped by the table to thank her and me for our hard work on the case. Even if the identities of the remains weren't confirmed, the townsfolk guessed as much. Tara was oozing relief. She'd made good on her campaign promise.

Entrées were served to the six of us, and Eric immediately leaned into me, sliding a hand down my thigh, while the other hand pinched a fry from my plate. 

“Hey! Hands to yourself, buster.” I swatted him away. “If you wanted fries you shouldn’t have ordered pizza.” 

“He’s hopeless,” Pam said, with a dismissive wave. “You can’t take him anywhere.” 

Eric smirked, “You’re one to talk. How many times have I had to scrape you off the pavement outside some exclusive pop-up club in Manhattan at 4 am?” 

“I assure you no scraping is involved, I’m as graceful shitfaced as I am sober. I’m just a little more fun.” She winked across at Amelia and then reached over to empty what was left in the pitcher of beer into Amelia’s glass. 

“Nothing wrong with having a little fun…” Amelia replied, not-so-subtly adjusting her low cut top. 

“What about you, Northman. When are you heading back to the big smoke?” Tara asked in her usual style. Interrogation. I felt Eric’s hand squeeze my thigh involuntarily. Before he could answer I kicked Tara in the shin under the table. “Ow! The fuck was that for?” 

“Being a bitch.” I threw a chip at her. Eric and I hadn’t even talked about his eventual return. I sure as hell wouldn’t be having the conversation during a boozy dinner with friends.

“Skank.” She laughed and threw a chip back. I flipped her the bird, and then we both lifted the top bun of our burgers and began stuffing them with fries.

“That means ‘I love you’ in Tara-speak,” J.B. explained to Eric. “I’d like to say she’s all bark and no bite, but she’d probably kick my ass for it.” 

“Damn straight,” Tara said with her mouth full of burger.

I spied a familiar face across the busy bar and I grabbed the empty pitcher. “My turn to shout,” I told the group, getting to my feet. Eric moved to help me and I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’m not an invalid. I can get it.” He looked at me uncertainly and I laughed realizing it was his discomfort that concerned him, not mine. “If Tara starts interrogating you, just ask her tell you about her fateful escalator ride, circa 1998, when she was wearing those ridiculous extra-flared jeans that were all the rage.” 

Tara hissed but I grabbed my crutch and limped towards the bar before she could hurl any insults. I was halfway to the bar when I felt a tap on my shoulder. 

“Excuse me, are you Susannah Herveaux?” 

“Depends who’s asking,” I said distractedly, watching as the gap I intended to stand in at the busy bar disappeared.

“Yvonne Chung, Dateline News.” 

I sighed and turned to the woman. She was slight and darkhaired, of Chinese descent, though her accent placed her somewhere closer to the mid-west. 

“I’m not speaking to the press. Nor will I.” 

“We’re prepared to offer compensation.” 

I shook my head emphatically. “I am not and will not talk. Especially not while the investigation is ongoin'. But if you do want to talk to someone…” I turned her slightly by the elbow and pointed out where the agents were seated. Lattesta stared me down with a paint-peeling scowl as the diminutive reporter made a beeline to their table. I smiled and waved cheerfully to him. 

I limped back to the bar and bopped my hip into where Terry was seated with Rene and Kevin. 

“Hey boys,” I smiled, placing the empty jug between them on the wooden bar top.

“Sookie!” Terry wrapped me in a side hug and I could smell the booze on his breath.

“Hey, Terry. Not on duty tonight, Kevin?” 

Kevin lifted his glass of cola. “I start soon. Kenya, Geoff and me are working the night shift.” 

“How ya doing, Sookie?” Rene asked, his Quebecois lilt placing a sweet emphasis on my name. He leaned over the bar to flag someone down. Marty, the owner, was buzzing like a fly behind the bar trying to keep up with the crowd and signalled he’d be with us in a tick. 

“Still limping, still sore but healing just fine.” 

He tsked. “Frostbite is no joke, mon belle.” 

“You’re tellin’ me,” hiccupped Terry. “My nose still aches when it gets cold.” 

Marty slid a full pitcher of beer over to me. “On the house, doll. I’ll send more over to the table.” I demurred and tried to hand some cash over. He waved me off. “You’ve brought closure to many families coming into this New Year’s. It’s our treat.” 

I felt a prickle of discomfort and looked over to Terry who studying a cardboard coaster on the bar, his thumb and forefinger idly spinning it on the spot. 

“You doing okay, Terry?” I placed my hand on his and squeezed. He dropped his head miserably. “FBI still houndin’ you?” I asked.

“Grilled me all afternoon. Arlene is just about ready to me to hang me out to dry for takin’ off without a word.” 

“They’re just doing their job, trying to eliminate every lead. Did Arlene pass on my advice?” 

“Yeah,” he said, still not looking across to me. “I’m gonna see Sid next week.”

“Good. I hope you didn’t tell them too much.” 

“Just the truth, Sook. It’s all I got to say to them.” I patted his hand and said goodbye to the men. Rene eyed me and Terry curiously. I guess not everyone was so sure of Terry’s innocence. 

Eric looked relieved when I got back to the table, and Pam and Tara were cackling over something. 

“It was a bad idea to ever introduce these two,” he muttered into my ear. 

After dinner, we drove into Chester and took a shuttle bus up to the resort, one specially organized for the party. Pam and Amelia sat together, whispering and giggling Eric and I sat the row behind, his arm slung around my shoulders. 

“If you were back in New York what would you be doing right now?” I asked him. He’d combed his hair back with some product and was in his usual leather jacket, knit sweater combo, like a sexy professor gone bad. 

“Probably dragged to some party in Manhattan by this one,” he said, tugging on the back of Pam’s hair. 

“Oh my God, Eric. Don’t even start,” Pam said, turning in her seat. “He’d be in front of a TV, dressed in a pair of dirty sweats and a wife beater, nursing a beer and his bleeding heart. And Eric, we had an invite to Alec Baldwin’s New Year’s Eve bash. Alec. Baldwin. Do you know who we could be rubbing shoulders with right now?” 

“Don’t give a shit, Pamela,” he said, rubbing his shoulder against mine. I smiled and leaned against him, watching the darkness roll past.


	29. New Year, New You

The short village strip leading up to the resort was like a winter wonderland; small stores and cottages were aglow with Christmas lights and old-fashioned lanterns standing on ornate back poles lined the street. We pulled up out the front Ridgetop Ski Resort. The changes the resort had made since I’d visited last surprised me. Mind you, that had been over a decade ago. But the façade of the building had been updated, the old rendered cement facing now a tasteful mix of stonework and timber. The shuttle pulled up under the tall porte-cochere and a tuxedoed valet opened the shuttle door. 

“Damn, this place got fancy,” I whispered to J.B., who nodded back at me as we climbed out of the bus. 

“Niall sunk a lot of money in here a few years back when that new resort up the road got built. Ridgetop is now Mt. Rayner’s premier luxury ski resort. There's still a small boutique one about half a mile that way.” 

“Is Ridgetop doing well?” I asked.

“It’s going like gangbusters.” He grabbed Tara by the hand, pulling her close. “Good thing too... Because someone just negotiated themselves a 20% pay rise.” 

“Get out!” Tara smacked his chest. “Really?” He nodded and she squealed, pulling him down for a whopper of a kiss. I smiled, watching on as they practically skipped in through the front doors together side-by-side. At least that was their money woes dealt with for the time being. I hung back until Eric got out with my crutch in hand. Niall was lingering in the foyer greeting guests as we walked in together and he strode over to me, a broad smile on his face. 

“Susannah!” He swept me in a hug and then shook Eric’s hand. “So pleased you both made it. You look stunning as ever.”

He directed us to the main ballroom, which had never hosted a ball as far as I was aware but often hosted weddings and parties. The room was lit up with warm orange-red lighting and the impressive cathedral ceiling showcased a lights display. Pale blue patterns spiraled around in time with the beat of the music, which emanated from large speakers and a DJ booth on stage at the far end of the room. 

Eric whistled as he took in the room and the hundreds of people who filled it. “I’d like to see Alec Baldwin top this.” 

We went straight to the bar and I ordered him a Ridgetop Special, which was basically a Whisky Sour with a liberal dash of orange bitters and a wedge of lime. 

“A few of these and I’ll be flat on the floor,” I said, choking on my first sip. It was stronger than I remembered. 

“Ah, just how I like you,” Eric said with a leer. I socked him in the arm, reminding him he’d have to be the one carrying me back down the mountain. We made our way through the crowd looking for our friends and I felt a strong hand at my elbow.

“Sookie!” It was Sam and he was grinning ear to ear. “Can’t believe you’re up and about again so soon.” 

We embraced briefly and Sam introduced us to his wife, Mel, the gorgeous curly redhead I’d seen from the photo in the ranger station. She immediately asked me about Bonnie, apparently having heard about her from Sam. She started gushing about the breed, and I got my phone out to show her a recent photo of Bonnie playing in the snow out the front of the cabin. I promised to bring her in for her yearly vaccinations, which were coming up.

“So, you’ve known Sam a while now?’ she asked as she took a sip of her wine. Her eyes were wide and doe-like. I tried to guess her age, it had to be no more than late-20s. 

“We go way back. He was my boss once upon a time.”

“I hear he was quite the teen heartthrob back then.”

“He tell you that?” I said with a laugh, and she nodded, laughing too. “Well, he’s not lying.” I looked to the men next to us, Sam was retelling the story of how he and Bill found me on the mountain. Eric’s lips were pinched shut as Sam was described finding my belongings strewn down the side of the rock face. I reached down and took Eric’s hand, which he gripped tightly. 

“I’m not sure what an acceptable thank you gift is for savin’ my life, Sam," I said. "But I’m pretty sure I’m in your debt for now and forever. Bill’s too.” 

“Think nothing of it, cher.” He winked. “Although… Having said that, one of your gran’s apple pies would never go astray.”

“Consider it done. I’ll make you a different pie every day of the week indefinitely if I didn’t think your wife might complain about your belt tightening.” 

"How's the novel going?" Sam asked Eric after I arranged with Sam to drop off some baked goodies to him and Bill at the station later through the week.

"Nearly finished the first draft," Eric replied, finishing the last of his drink and taking the empty glass from my hand. "Ahead of schedule. Though, I had a little help." I felt the prickle of alcohol warming my limbs... And the prickle of something warm and fuzzy in my chest. 

"Great job, man. Can't wait to read it. So, then - what next for the great Eric Northman? What're the plans after the lease runs out up at your place?" 

I felt my smile freeze in place, and I slowly released Eric's hand. Mel touched my elbow lightly and asked me a pointed question about what I did for a living. She shared a short sympathetic smile with me, sensing my discomfort, and I turned my shoulder to the men so I wouldn't have to see Eric answer. 

I was pretty sure he was leaving, but it hadn't been discussed. I think the both of us had been avoiding the topic, not like it wasn't easy with everything else happening in our lives... and to be honest, I didn't want to talk about it. It was easier to ignore. I liked the non-state of our relationship. I liked that we were committed but not. That there was no logical pattern to us. We were the perfect vacation fling. Stay together in the bubble of our honeymoon phase until distance pulled us apart - rather than stay together until one hurt the other and we break up. Or worse still, stay together and marry. Marriage was a risk I didn't ever want to take again. It chewed me up and spat me out the first time. And I was at my limit, I couldn't survive the loss of another loved one. I wouldn't survive it. 

I briefly explained my profession to Mel and answered her polite questions; when I turned back around, Eric had gone. Sam gestured to the bar and I nodded in understanding. I left the couple and decided to wander, as best I could, through the crowd and soak up the atmosphere. I collected a glass of champagne from the free bar as I made my way through the throng.

The music pulsed through the room, the bass traveling up through the bottoms of my boots and I sunk down into a chair at the edge of the room to people watch. I spotted Amelia and Pam up on the dancefloor, practically grinding on each other. I'd yet to see J.B. and Tara since I lost them at the entrance. I caught sight of Claudine, hanging off the elbow of a tall dark-haired man and she spotted me immediately, sashaying across the room. It was hard to miss her, dressed in a long-sleeved sequined mini dress in rose gold. 

"Sookie! You look fantastic!" 

I laughed in disbelief; she looked like she was stepping off the red carpet and had a team of people help style her. Me? I hadn't bothered buying anything specifically for the night. It was still wearing whatever was easy to get in and out of. I'd 'dressed up' in mustard-yellow button up sundress with leggings, tan belt around my waist to complete my 'I'm on my way to a barn-dance' look. I hardly compared.

"Thanks, Claudine. You look stunning." 

She sat down on the empty seat next to me and grimaced, lifting her arm to pinch at the side of her gown. 

"I better look incredible, this dress is the most prickly, uncomfortable piece of shit I've ever worn." She smiled at me and nudged me with her elbow affectionately. "I'm glad you came. I didn't think you would... It means a lot to Niall." 

I let out a long sigh and looked down at my hands resting in my lap. "I don't know what to make of all this, Claudine. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact I'm related to you all and part of... all this." I gestured to the ballroom. "And the fact I haven't seen hide or hair of Claude isn't lost on me either. It's a bit..." 

"Overwhelming?"

"That's putting it mildly." 

"Well, I've had over a decade to get my head around it, Sookie. I’m so glad I can finally talk to you about it now. I was always in awe of you. You were always been so sure of yourself. In fact, you intimidated me for the longest time." 

"You're kidding," I said, wrinkling my nose. 

"No lie. You always knew what was up. I looked you up on Facebook a few times over the years. You've always had this determination to you, you knew which direction your life was meant to go and you just went for it. And I’ve just always…" She lifted a hand, wiggling her fingers in a wishy-washy gesture, her bejeweled ring catching in the light. "Just floated from one thing to another, trying to find my place. I knew Niall, and even Dad – who’s a world-class floater, mind you – well, they never seemed to think I was living up to my potential. Then I'd look at you and you were the daughter I was meant to be. Dedicated. Focused. Loyal. I couldn’t get it, we're of the same blood. I wondered why I didn't get that same spirit as yours."

"You didn't have Gran raising you." 

"She sure was something," she said, sipping her champagne. “Though I don’t think she liked me much after Quinn.” 

“God, whatever happened to him?” 

“He’s running a cross-fit studio in So-Cal.” 

“You’re kidding.” I couldn't help it, I laughed loudly.

“Nope. And he’s bald as an egg. I think he imagines himself like some white version of The Rock. You need to follow his Instagram. It’s hilarious.” She got her phone out and we giggled over some of his ridiculous selfies, enormous pecs busting out of deep v-neck tees, and even one with him kissing his bicep. 

"Where is your Dad?" I asked when the conversation slowed. Niall hadn't mentioned anything to me about Dillon, but I knew they had a strained relationship. 

"Cote d'Azur probably, celebrating the New Year with his fourth wife. She's some twenty-two year old from Madrid." She huffed and swirled her champagne around in her flute. "I've come to realize family isn't about blood. It's about those you can count among you." She quaffed back the rest of her glass in one go. She flagged a passing member of bar staff and soon we each had fresh glasses of bubbly.

"Gran always used to say families are like fudge," I said once we'd taken a sip, "mostly sweet and with a few nuts… But, I’m pretty sure she was thinking of Jase with that one." 

Claudine burst into a peal of laughter, and the dark haired man I saw her with earlier started giving her a sexy stare-down from across the room. 

"I think you're date's waiting for you." 

"He's not my date... At least not yet." She stood and walked, hips swinging, across the room towards the man - before suddenly veering off at the last second towards the dancefloor. His startled expression was comical and he took off after her, greedy sheen in his eye. I had to laugh at her wiles. She had her act down pat.

I craned my neck and saw no sign of Eric at the bar area, though I did see Claude, whose seething gaze seemed to cut across the ballroom straight to me. I finished my drink and a gust of icy wind blew past as party-goers walked in off the balcony. I took that as my cue, getting to my feet as gracefully as I could muster and slipping out through the still open door. 

Outside, the temperature was frigid, but the alcohol was warming me slowly from within like a pot-bellied stove. I leaned on the balcony staring down the mountain towards the twinkling lights of Chester. It was pretty. Really pretty. But I felt disconnected from it. From the party inside too. The crutch didn’t exactly help. Normally, I’d be tearing up the dancefloor, having the time of my life. 

And what was Glenda doing tonight? Tucked up in bed? Probably sleeping her way through the New Year at the home. Did she find any modicum of closure in the discovery of the girls’ remains? She was a very black and white woman, maybe she couldn’t let herself accept it until the confirmation came back from forensics. 

I thought of my own home. I knew for sure what Jason would be doing right now. Lafayette put on a Cajun pig roast every New Year’s at his bar and grill. Drinking normally started early afternoon, and it would get wild by midnight. You’d be considered lucky if you didn’t fall asleep or pass out by countdown, stuffed with booze and food. Right now Jason would be shootin' the shit with Hoyt and the rest of his bozo friends. I thought of my empty home in Shreveport. With its tropical palm garden, the huge deck Alcide had built for summer cookouts, the empty bedrooms for our non-existent future kids… 

Eric appeared beside me and handed me a flute of champagne. 

“I’ve been looking for you.” 

“I didn’t really think through the logistics of tonight,” I said, knocking the toe of my leather boot against the crutch. I accepted the champagne and threw half of it back with one mouthful. 

“Well, I bumped into Niall and he gave me this.” Eric retrieved a hotel key card from his pocket. “We have lodgings for the night in his premier chalet. If you’re over the riff-raff we can go and check out our new digs.”

I took the key card and turned it over in my hand. I wasn’t sure what to think about it. Why did Niall give it to Eric rather than me? Probably because he knew I’d have turned it down. I finished the champagne with a second mouthful and it clattered against the wooden railing when I sat it down. Easy, Stackhouse, easy.

“Well, if you're ready to call it a night then I’m sure we can rustle up a case of bud and some dirty sweats somewhere around here.” I pretended to squint out into the darkness. Eric chuckled and settled against the railing next to me. 

“They say the way you spend New Year’s Eve is the way you spend the rest of your year,” I told him, handing the card back.

Eric looked unconvinced. “Who says that?”

“I don’t know,” I said, waving a hand around. “They.”

“Sounds stupid.” 

I snorted in agreement, but it came out more like a hiccup gone wrong. I was half-way drunk.

“You know where I was this time two years ago?” I said.

“Tell me.”

“Barbados.” 

Eric raised an eyebrow.

“Alcide wanted a holiday to ‘reconnect’.” I added air quotes. “He’d been promising Barbados since we were boyfriend and girlfriend, so we booked a week off and went... Then three months later he was dead. Stupid," I spat. "That saying is stupid.” I stared out into the dark and I had the overwhelming urge to just scream and scream and let it all out.

“But did you reconnect?” 

I looked at him sharply and to my surprise, I felt a genuine laugh bubble over. Trust him to only focus on that aspect of it. “Did we reconnect?”

“Yeah, did you guys reconnect on the trip?” 

“You’re a trip, you know that?” He just smiled, waiting for an answer. “Yeah, we reconnected. It didn’t solve our problems. You can dress a shit sandwich all you want, but at the end of the day it’s still a shit sandwich.” 

Eric laughed long and loud. “I don’t think that’s how that saying goes, Sookie.” 

“Oh, shuddup.” I socked him playfully on the shoulder, but he grabbed my fist, pulling me in for a kiss. It was rough and deep, with my fist somehow ending up clinging to his sweater, and his hand tangling through my hair. He pulled away, eyes glazed and I was left dazed, panting. He traced his thumb over my bottom lip and my heart clenched, unexpectedly. I loved and hated how much of an effect he had on me.

“Let’s dance,” he said. He handed me the crutch all the while ignoring my protests and then somehow we were inside and on the dancefloor, the crutch abandoned on my cold seat. I moved awkwardly at first until the beat of the bass swept me away and, thank the Lord for alcohol, my foot (still strapped to an inch of its life) was pain-free as we swirled and boogied away. 

I saw Claudine move past us, arms wrapped around her dark and handsome beau and I thought I might’ve heard Tara’s screeching laugh above the music. When I stumbled, Eric caught me by the arm and lifted me until my legs were wrapped around his waist, and my arms around his neck. He danced me like that for the rest of the song until I thought I was going to bust a stitch laughing. 

Two more dances and two more whiskey cocktails, we stumbled our way through the resort grounds with the bottle of Glayva I insisted we order over the bar. We located our chalet and I flicked the light on, letting out a whoop as I took in the room. 

“Daaamn,” I drawled, crutching my way in. I tossed the crutch onto the armchair and limped over the gas wood fire, cranking it all the way up. I fell back onto the couch with a flourish and a moment later Eric handed me a small tumbler with a snifter of Glayva and bounced over the back of the couch to join me with his own glass. 

“This reminds me of a Swiss chalet I went to once with an old girlfriend.”

I paused mid-sip. “Is Eric Northman sharing with me his romantic history?” I pretended to pinch myself and he scowled. 

“I was 19, still a kid.” He finished his whiskey in one hit and stared thoughtfully into the bottom of the glass.

“And?” I prompted. I swear sometimes - this man! It was like drawing blood from stone. I grabbed the bottle and topped his glass up.

"And... she was Sophie. She used to tell people she was descended from Nordic royalty, but as far I could tell all she was was a royal bitch. I was just happy to be getting it regularly.” He waggled his brows suggestively. 

“Sure have a type don’t you?” I said, thinking about Freyda. “Bitchy,” I explained.

“You’re not my type.” His eyes darkened and my heart quickened.

“No, I’m not.” I finished my drink and set it down on the floor. I climbed across the lounge in what I hoped appeared seductively, then straddled him. Eric's brows lifted and he threw back the amount I poured him in one mouthful. I took the glass from his hand, letting it drop onto the rug and opened up his jacket, running my hands down his chest. I pushed him back onto the couch and he hit the cushions with a bounce. I slowly unhooked his belt, his eyes tracing the movements of my hands as I carefully unhooked my own belt from around my waist next. “I’m definitely somethin’ else altogether,” I said.

My head swam, and I knew I’d pay for it tomorrow morning, but right now I couldn’t give a damn. I released the top buttons of my dress and opened it up slowly for him, revealing my white lace bra. I wriggled the bra down till my breasts popped out, exposed. His jaw went a little slack, eyes trained on my chest as I trailed my fingers across my breasts, winding slow circles around my nipples until they puckered. 

“I’m different, aren’t I?” I asked innocently as I slid a hand down the length of my stomach, unbuttoning my rest of my dress as I went till it was all the way open. His affirmation died on his lips as my hand traveled further down still, passing along the bulge in his pants, stroking and squeezing gently, causing his hips to buck. A hiss of air escaped between his teeth. 

“Sookie…” 

“Shhh,” I hushed.

I undid the top button of his jeans. Next, I slowly worked the zipper down. I kept my eyes trained on him, my free hand still squeezing and massaging my breast. I stood and let the dress fall from my shoulders to the floor and peeled off my leggings, tossing my bra toward a dark doorway I thought might be a bedroom. 

I tugged his pants down and straddled him again, this time completely naked. I leaned forward, greeting him with a kiss, before sliding myself deliberately slowly along his straining length. He moaned my name again, grasping my breast and I shifted forward so he could kiss and suck my nipple. 

My hips traveled lazily, back and forward coating him with my arousal, all the while he bucked listlessly under me. When I could bear it no longer, I slid along once more and on the way back, twisted slightly to catch him at my entrance. I sunk the tip of him inside me. We groaned simultaneously and I pressed myself further until we were completely joined. We rocked and moved against one another and I leaned forward to brace myself either side of his head, the both of us watching as I lifted and lowered myself onto him, the two of us joining over and over again. His hand moved between us, rubbing slick circles against my clit until I felt the crest of something wonderful looming. 

“I’m so close.” I gasped. “Please, honey, don’t stop… Don’t stop.” My eyes squeezed shut and he captured me in brief, hard kiss, hoarsely urging me to open my eyes. My lids sprang open just as I came crashing down, my orgasm ripping through me, our eyes locked, bodies joined, and my heart feeling like it was on the precipice of some great unknown plummet. 

Eric flipped me onto my back, swinging my good leg over his shoulder and he thrust hard back into me, pressing wet kisses down my calf. I cried out his name as I felt the beginnings of another climax closing in and Eric picked up his pace, his erection straining within me, filling me in a way that felt utterly complete. Oh god, I could barely... It was... I grasped for anything to hang onto. The couch cushion, the armrest, my sanity. He pounded into me, again and again. I was practically sobbing as my next orgasm hit me like a freight train, and he came hard with a cry, my name passing through among a string of Swedish utterings, his release throbbing deeply within me. His hips finally stilled after we gently rode through the aftershocks together. 

“Woo!” I cried out to the room, tilting my head back to see the ceiling and flopping my arms back over the end of the couch. Drunk sex was fun.

Eric pressed a soft kiss to my calf again before gently lowering my leg. “Is it that good for everyone?” he asked, his accent more prominent than I’d ever heard, the words slurring into one another. 

“Just for us, baby.” I grinned. 

He leaned smiling broadly and gave me a kiss. “Wait here, lover. I’ll be back.” 

I wolf-whistled at his naked behind as he sauntered off to find a bathroom, and he smacked his ass and wiggled it for my benefit. I giggled, sitting up a little. Then, doing away with the glass entirely, I took a swig directly from the Glayva bottle. I felt like I was ten years younger again.

I waited a while and managed a few more swigs. I sat up then used my panties, which had somehow torn in the process of coming off, to clean myself up a little. I got to my feet and limped around the chalet taking in the impressive amenities. I’d have to make sure to insist on paying tomorrow when we checked out. The room was fancy, like one or two grand per night fancy. It was like my cabin had a baby with Eric’s, with its modern smooth oak finishes, instead of the bumpy logs. The gas fire was a rectangular standalone feature in the middle of the room, the plush living space on one side, a dining on the other, and tall floor to ceiling windows at the end, dressed with sweeping white gauze curtains, pulled elegantly to the side.

I made a lap of the chalet and gave up waiting. Water was still running from the bathroom and Eric was taking his time, so I crutched to the bedroom, flicking the lights on and off, calling out to him, before I caught sight of the clock. 11:37 pm. Shit. We nearly missed counting down to midnight! 

"Eric?" I called out again. No answer. I pushed the bedroom door all the way open, nearly tripping on his sweater and shirt. Steam was billowing from the crack in the sliding door to the en suite. There was no sound from within other than the steady spray of water hitting tiles. Fear, like an icy thimble, traveled down my throat and I hurried to door, sliding it back with an echoing slam. 

My heart froze. He was slumped across the shower floor, prone and pale. I nearly slipped over the tile getting to him, my crutch clattering to the ground. His cheek lay flat against the dark tile near the drain, eyes closed. 

“Eric?” I cried shrilly, patting his cheek. “Eric! Wake up!”

He mumbled incoherently. I plonked back onto my ass and drew a huge shaky breath in relief. Whoa. My brain went to morbid places in times of perceived crisis. With the next inhale, I recognized the sour pang of vomit. I wiped shower spray from my face and managed to chuckle. Well. At least I wasn’t the only one who'd over-indulged tonight. 

I stood and got the temperature just right in the shower and reached up on my tip toes to point the rain shower head onto his body, rinsing him off. I wound off the faucets and dried him down as best I could. 

“C’mon meathead,” I said, pulling him up to sitting. 

“Nooo… Feel sick,” he moaned. 

“Well, why not feel sick in a california king on egyptian cotton, rather than the cold shower floor.” 

I huffed and puffed and helped him to his feet; I wasn’t sure who was supporting who, but we managed to cross the floor. He practically fell into bed, a trail of water following us from the bathroom. I snorted as I assessed his unconscious form, flicking my wet hair back off my forehead. Well, guess I’d be seein’ the New Year in by myself then.

I walked to the bedroom windows and pulled the drapes back. We were situated in a flatter area of the resort, but the view of Chester was amazing and right in front of us, down the hill. I could also see our hot tub. Bubbling and adorned with fairy lights, steam curling skyward. 

I unwound my soaked bandage and tried my foot, it was feeling pretty good actually; so I walked out, stark naked and climbed right on in, Glayva in hand. I threw back a few swigs, enjoying the warmth inside and out. I remembered Eric telling me about the Finnish custom to run out into the snow after a hot sauna to cool off. Something about circulation. I could picture him doing right now if he wasn’t currently sleeping off a hell of a stupor. A huge cheer swelled from the main hotel as the countdown began. A swell of impulsivity hit me at the same time. 

It was then that I had to finally admit maybe I had changed, since there is no way on God’s green earth that the Sookie Stackhouse from before would ever have seen the New Year in like I did: buck naked, laughing, and rolling in the snow as I watched the sky light up with fireworks.


	30. Grasping Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted a new chapter yesterday, too. Did you see it? Quickly - go read it, if you haven't already!

The room was damp. The scent of mildew clung to the air, to the walls, to the scratchy fabric of the cushion under my arms. I was hugging it to my chest, and the young girl to my right on the couch was doing the same. When I looked at her questioningly, she pinched her lips shut and desperately shook her head. 

_No,_ her eyes pleaded. 

I understood too, understood with a grim rush where I was once more. The shackle around her ankle, the dirty planes on the flats of her bare feet, her glazed expression. It told a story.

I heard a voice again, distorted through the upstairs floorboards. The deep, muffled timbre of someone talking; someone I knew? I moved to stand. There was no reply to the voice above. Maybe he was on the phone?

"No," the girl hissed. "Don't. The door is locked and he'll hurt you." 

"Who is it?" I stood anyway and instead of aiming for the stairs I walked the basement floor, looking for something... anything. A clue. My hands raked across the workshop table, it was kept orderly, tidy, the bench lined with newspaper, the tools on their allotted hooks on the wall. My finger caught upon a protruding screw and nicked the tender flesh between my fingers. I shook my hand, waving the pain away and abandoned the bench, heading toward the darkened corner where my leg connected with something hard. 

“Ow.” I crouched down and my hands traveled in darkness across the metallic shape. Cool metal poles, the bump of metallic welding, velcro and padding across the top bars… Round rubber tires. A bicycle. My finger travelled further, along spokes until they bumped into small plastic pieces. Spokey dokeys. I remembered having them on my bike when I was a kid. They clicked and clacked as the wheels turned. I thumbed one and the plastic bead fell off onto the ground. My hands traveled higher, across the rough rubber of the front tire; my fingers sunk under the pressure, it was flat. I turned back to the girl. 

“Sarah?” I asked. “Sarah Johnson?” She was the last girl to go missing. The youngest. Only 15… Disappeared, riding her bike. She started crying earnestly, burying her face into the cushion. I rose and crossed the floor until I was crouched before her. It was her. I knew it. 

“Are you still alive?” 

She shook her head and pressed her face harder into the pillow, her muffled, “No, no, no, no, no…”, absorbed by the padding of the cushion. I gently took the dirty cushion from her hands. She looked up, her skin greenish blue, the flesh falling away. I gasped and darted back away from her. 

“I’m dead,” she rasped. “And I keep dying over and over and over every day. I’m stuck here. Help me…” 

Booted feet struck from above, the sound of someone crossing the floor quickly. Both our gazes snapped up, following the sound.

“Who is it? Quickly. Tell me, please.” 

“I don’t know his name,” she said, her eyes now half-open, unseeing. “I just know him.” Her voice dropped multiple registers, unnatural and distorted. Her lip split and black ooze trickled from it down her chin. “Fiat justitia ruat cælum... Fiat justitia ruat cælum..."

 _Let justice be done though the heavens fall._ God, what did that even mean? What sense was I meant to take from that? It was a legal term, I knew that much.

I opened my mouth to speak but I was beaten to it. 

“Ssss…” 

My head snapped back to the shadowy corner that housed the bike. The hissing continued, an unnatural growling emerging from the darkness. Eurynomos. Though I couldn’t see him, I felt his inky black eyes watching me from the dark recess. He was waiting for dead bodies. Two of them, in fact. Sarah's. Mine.

“I don’t know what to do!” I cried at him. “Tell me what to do!” 

“Start asking the right questions,” the girl said. “You need to-”

"Ughnn. Sookie." The voice cut through the dream, disconnecting me as surely as pulling a plug. My eyes opened, I was met with bright white light. I was awake.

"Sookie," Eric whispered again, before groaning and moving sluggishly in bed beside me. "We slept through the New Year." 

I was tangled in the covers, and I stumbled up to my feet, ripping the blankets free of my legs. Pain shot through my foot and calf when I stood. My head swam. The echo of the girl's cries reverberated in my mind. The hiss of the demon was close, so close like it had just leaned down and breathed it into my ear as I lay in bed. 

"What are you doing?" Eric asked. "Are you okay?" 

I grabbed my crutch. “Back in a sec,” I rasped. I crutched across the chalet. Clothes were strewn everywhere. The couch was missing half its cushions, wet towels were on the floor. I got to the main bathroom, pushing the door shut behind me with the foot of the crutch. I leaned heavily against the basin and gasped for breath, clutching the edge. When I felt the hammering of my heart slow, I turned the faucet, splashing my face with water. I wound it off slowly, staring at my reflection. 

My hair was a wild mess of tangles and curls, my skin was pale and wan. Hungover and ... and haunted. 

"God..." I whispered and splashed my face again as if it might wash away the shroud of horror the nightmare had cloaked over me. I looked up again. It was like staring at a stranger. "What do I do?" I asked myself. "What the fuck am I meant to do?" The girl in the reflection, the weird version of myself, looked as helpless as I felt. 

I brushed my teeth with the extra toothbrush provided in the amenities kit, and I relieved myself before crutching back to the bed. Eric had rolled onto his back, arm draped across his eyes. He was still groaning.

I climbed back in and winced as I lifted my leg up onto the bed. I picked up a spare pillow from the floor and used it to prop my foot. I cursed as I inspected my ankle. It was a tie-dyed motley mix of blues and purples, and swollen - far more swollen than it had been the day before. My drunken escapades didn't seem like such a great idea post-mortem. 

I flopped back onto the pillow and dragged the comforter back onto me, squeezing my eyes shut. Couldn’t I just shut the world out for one day? Would that really be so hard? Eric sidled up to me, hooking his warm foot over my own. 

"Everything okay?" he asked, his arm draped across me, hand clasping my hip gently, possessively, as if I might hobble off in a hurry again. Fat chance. I sighed and nodded, turning my head to face him. 

"You slept through the New Year," I said. "Not me." 

"I barely remember even coming back here."

"You passed out in the shower. I think I fucked you senseless." I registered the words half a second after I spoke them and I clapped my hand over my mouth with a gasp. Eric burst into laughter. "I think my brain to mouth filter is broken..." I said, shaking my head slowly.

“Hungover Sookie has a dirty mouth. Hot." 

I poked him in the ribs and we tussled for a minute, trying to out-poke the other until we were both out of breath, laughing. The nightmare began to fade away like slowly tuning the static away from a radio station. Eric finally managed to drag himself out of bed to the bathroom to clean up and I turned on my side, the drapes still drawn open, taking in the snowy vista of the mountain.

"Sorry I flaked," he said when he finally returned to bed, refreshed and placing bottles of water for the both of us on the nightstand. "I don't think I'm cut out for whiskey drinking anymore, even in cocktail form." He pressed a warm kiss onto my bare shoulder and trailed his mouth across my clavicle, before resting his head against my breasts. I smoothed his hair, dragging my nails lightly against his scalp. I felt warm and safe.

"It's fine. Actually, I had a great time." I smiled, reliving the memory of the midnight fireworks. 

“Except for the nightmares.” My fingers stilled, faltering briefly, before resuming their movements. 

“Except the nightmares,” I repeated quietly. I hadn’t realized he was aware of them. 

“You cry out in your sleep.” He turned to face me and he silently held my gaze, really held it, until enough moments passed that I was certain he was looking inside me, inside my mind, uncovering all my unspoken fears. The thud of blood drummed in my ears. My mouth opened, uselessly, though no words would come. “You’ve been different since the mountain,” he said. “You’re pulling away.” 

“It’s been less than a week,” I whispered weakly. 

“I know. But you’re not alone, Sook. Don’t shut me out.” His fingers traced down my side under the covers and, just like that, the somber mood dissipated. His eyes cleared of their cloudy expression and the smirking, arrogant man I’d come to know so well reappeared. “Now, from what I can remember, drunk Sookie also had a dirty mouth. How do you feel about re-enacting some of last night, help a poor guy remember?” He parted my knees, sliding his hips between them. I smiled, happy to do away with uncomfortable topics, happy to return to something we were so, so good at. 

“Was it like this?” he asked, as he dragged himself against me.

“Oh no, if I recall correctly it was me that was on top…” I hooked my top leg around his waist, pulling him close for a kiss. “But I think we can make this work.”

* * *

Afterward, and ignoring Eric's pleas to not move for the rest of the day, I managed to get the both of us out of bed. Bonnie was alone at the cabin, and I didn't want to leave her for much longer. I sat in an armchair by the gas fire, resting my ankle and watching as Eric sluggishly picked up after the mess we made the night before. He grumbled good-naturedly, but he understood my need to leave the room presentable. It was a gift, after all, even if I had every intention of paying. I wanted to leave the room at least presentable.

After a terse exchange at the front desk with reception staff in which they stated, unequivocally, that the room was no charge and the account was paid, we caught the next shuttle bus down to Chester. I’d really wanted to pay, but even I could accept a gift for what it was. I wouldn't be prideful to the point of rudeness. It meant I would need to repay some of the kindness to Niall another way. An idea of mull over later. My brain was fresh out of inspiration; in fact, it felt like it had been dragged through mud.

We trudged/limped back through the mall carpark to where we left my truck and Eric boosted me up into the seat. He buckled me in, eyes full of mischief, and brushed a lingering kiss on my lips. 

"I've never done the walk of shame with my date before," he said, his fingers tracing under the neckline of my dress. I swatted his hand away playfully.

"I sure am glad I decided against a cocktail dress." We looked semi-acceptable... Except for the rumpled clothes, messy hair, and looking like death warmed over. 

"I'm glad you picked a dress with buttons." He thumbed the top button, his eyes darkening in memory. My cheeks pinkened and he chuckled, shutting the door and moving around to the driver's side. As he got in, the sun caught against the gold wedding rings on my keychain. Shapes of light flashed against the ceiling of the car; it brought my train of thought to a standstill. We drove back through to Douglas, and I tried to focus on watching the scenery pass us by, though an uncomfortable heat prickled my skin, rapidly climbing up my neck. 

Eric was relaxed next to me, his fingers tapping an idle rhythm to the music, a comfortable silence filling the space between us. It felt normal... Domesticated. As normal as if I were returning home from the store with Alcide, or driving to Jason and Crystal's with Alcide for a Sunday dinner long ago. I pulled my coat closer around me, but Eric grabbed my hand, moving it onto his lap, leaving his hand on top of mine. I blinked rapidly, willing away the sting in my eyes. It was then I knew I was over my head, and it was terrifying.

* * *  
The first week of January moved slowly like mountain fog across the lake. Any damage I’d added to my ankle over New Year’s Eve subsided and before long I was crutch-free, though nursing some gnarly open wounds where the blisters on my frostbitten toes had finally burst. I’d taken to visiting the doctor’s clinic in Douglas every day to have a nurse change my dressing and clean the wound site. So far so good. My toes hadn’t discolored and there were no signs of gangrene. 

Eric threw himself back into his writing, and while we saw each other every day, I’d taken to sending him back to his rental place to keep working. Pam was a taskmaster, I couldn't bear to feel her piercing gaze when he'd quit writing to hang out with me. I think she liked me, just not my influence on his work ethic - unless I was contributing to his bouts of 'inspiration'. Eric held onto my house key, often rolling into my bed in the early hours of the morning. I wouldn’t realize until dawn broke and I’d feel his heavy presence behind me. 

Pam only stayed a few days into the New Year, thankfully. Something about her "cash-cow theatrical producer having a meltdown mid-script" on some Broadway show. She said goodbye, brushing a very metropolitan air-kiss to my cheek and telling me she’d be in touch as soon as it was time for Eric to begin his next book. I rolled my eyes. I had no doubt she would.

The dreams persisted. They affected me more than I could bear to let on. They unpicked the stitches of my pysche, leaving me in a hollow, fractured state upon waking. I struggled to shake free of the feelings in the morning. To top it off, the neck-prickling sensation of being watched while outside had begun once again... I thought about that fifth body in the cave, the girl found without a head. At this point, I was just waiting for confirmation that my stalker had returned. 

Life through this period felt like I was walking a thin line between the surreal and normal. Between shadow and light. Between death and the living. Maybe not literally... but in the figurative sense, at least within my soul. I’d catch Eric staring at me occasionally, as if trying to piece together some sense in what I wasn’t telling him. 

I visited _Treasure Trove_ and spoke with Phillip, but he could offer no further insight into what I was experiencing. Octavia urged me to write it down, which I did, the odd note and reference in a notepad I kept on my nightstand, but it didn’t help. It made little sense. The dreams. Eurynomos. My whole life. I bumped my therapy up to weekly appointments. At least I was trying.

With Eric focusing on his work again and my health more or less returned, I was grateful to have my own space in the cabin, but all the time alone had me ready to climb the walls. I felt aimless once more. I enjoyed a long Skype conversation with Desmond one afternoon. He was home from his short Christmas vacation and back working at the firm in Shreveport. I caught him up on my life, the abridged and sane-version of course, and he filled me in on his. Then we talked shop. 

He updated me on the few cases I’d passed onto to the other associates, and the current big case dominating all of Desmond’s time: a messy probate case that looked like it was going to federal court. It was a trust and bankruptcy proceeding that had the potential to be precedent-worthy. He was excited to sink his teeth into it; it was a career-defining case. I finished the Skype call just longing to sink my teeth into something challenging. _Anything._

I finished the impossible puzzle in one afternoon and texted a picture of it to Jason, but the triumph and satisfaction was fleeting. I wasted hours one evening looking into different methods of practicing law outside of Louisiana. It seemed like the easiest way would be to gain certification to practice pro-bono; otherwise, my only other option would be to re-sit the bar exam again here. By the time I’d get done preparing for it, it would be the end of summer and I’d be heading back to Shreveport, anyway. I downloaded the application for a permit to practice pro-bono and left it aside to think about more another day. I also dedicated far too much time trying to make sense of the words Sarah Johnson rasped to me in my dream: fiat justitia ruat cælum. Roughly speaking, it meant seek justice regardless of the consequences. But how?! What could I possibly do? Tara had gone radio silent and she was merely a pawn now, anyway, working at the will of the feds. I felt useless. I was in the dark.

Thursday morning found me driving into Chester with my faithful companion sprawled across the backseat. Mel managed to squeeze Bonnie in for an early morning vet appointment, and I think I fell in love with her a little when she barely acknowledged me in the vet waiting room but dropped to her knees to greet Bonnie like a long lost friend. 

Mel worked quickly and methodically, performing a thorough check over Bon and finishing up with her shots. Bonnie didn’t flinch or seem to notice between the lashings of affection she was receiving from me, the veterinarian nurse and Mel. 

“She’s in perfect health,” Mel declared. We sat together at her desk and I helped her fill out some of Bonnie’s history for her file while Bonnie took turns getting pats from the both of us. Schmoozer. 

“Did you have a wild one on New Year’s?” I asked. 

“Oh no, we left soon after midnight. Sam and I are pretty sedate these days. What about you and Eric?”

“I’m pretty sure we’ll be feeling hung over straight through into next year.” 

“It sure was a fun night,” she said with a giggle. I looked past her to the photo frame on her desk, it was the same couple portrait like on Sam’s desk. Cute. She followed my gaze and sighed wistfully. 

“He’s a good man, isn’t he?” she asked. I realized in the proceeding silence it wasn’t a rhetorical question, she was actually waiting for a response. 

“That’s for sure. I owe him my life.” 

“We’re gonna try for a baby this year.” 

I’m sure my face revealed my shock. Not so much sudden turn in conversation topic but, rather, the private admission. I barely knew her. I don't know, maybe it was something people shared openly? "That's great news!" I enthused. "You'll both be fantastic parents."

"I sure hope so," she said, the pen fidgeting between her fingers. 

"I'm sure you've had enough experience here with all the fur babies." 

"Right," she said with a nervous laugh. "How much more difficult could it be?" 

“I couldn’t tell you for certain, but if my dope brother can manage raising two perfect little boys then I know you and Sam will have no trouble at all…” 

Mel nodded absently, staring at the pen in her fingers. 

“Did you ever meet Dawn?” she asked suddenly, her gaze darting across to me.

“Yeah, I knew her. She was more my big brother’s friend than mine. A few years older than me. So, while we all kinda hung out together during the summers here in the same general group, her and Jase and that whole older crew did their own thing a lot of the time.” 

“The way Sam tells it, they had a wild relationship.” 

“Oh yeah,” I chuckled, thinking back. “They ran hot and cold. She was a wild girl. I remember one time her storming up to him at the lake when he was life-guarding. She was hollering about some girl he was apparently checking out. Sam went so red in the face, I was sure he was gonna bust a gasket. They were never a good match.” I shook my head ruefully, deciding to leave out the part of the story where he dragged her into the lifeguard hut so they could argue in private, for me to only bust them getting hot and heavy when I went to grab some first aid supplies a little while later. 

“I don’t know about that,” Mel said softly. “Sometimes I think he still misses her. She just up and left him one day, you know? He came home to find all her stuff gone, with only a note to say goodbye.” 

“Sounds like Dawn,” I said. There was no taming her wild streak. Sam was too good for her.

“He was so sweet and charming when we met, but sometimes I think he only pursued me because I was the safe choice.” 

“No way.” I reached over and squeezed her hand. “You should see the way his eyes light up when he talks about you. He’s infatuated with you. You can’t fake that.” 

“You think?” she asked, before shaking her head self-consciously. “My gosh, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be venting all my insecurities onto you.” She called Bonnie over and offered her a treat from a large glass jar on her desk. 

“Don’t fret,” I assured. “We’ve all got our insecurities. Mine are a mile long. But you, definitely, have nothing to worry about.” 

We finished up with the appointment making tentative plans for dinner one night through the week. Eric and Sam were pretty good friends, so the prospect of a double date sounded fun. I left the vet in a good mood and then swung by the supermarket to grab the few items I still needed for home. I was still restocking the odd item since I'd done away with all the perishables before going to stay with Amelia. 

I was on my tippy-toes, reaching for the Greek yogurt on the top shelf when someone grabbed it before me. 

"Here you go." 

"Bill," I said in surprise, gratefully accepting his yogurt offering. There was an awkward moment where we simply looked at one another before I embraced him tightly. I hadn’t seen him since he’d stopped by for a visit when I was still stuck in the hospital. 

“How are you faring?” he asked. I released him slowly. “Your foot?” 

“It’s all good, thank you for asking. My toes will be tender for a while and my ankle is a little weak, but all good. I owe you my life.” Bill and Sam, knights in shining armor.

He shook his head and demurred politely. It was then I slowly took in his disheveled appearance, his rumpled clothes and hair, the bags under his eyes. 

“Are you alright, Bill?” 

His lips pursed and he tipped his head back with a wearied sigh, his red-rimmed eyes glazing over. 

“…Bill?” 

“I’m afraid I-” His voice cracked and he shook his head as if to clear it. “It’s been a long couple of days.”

“Why? What’s going on?” 

“Up until…" he checked his watch, "one hour ago, I had been detained in Douglas County police station.” 

“What? Really?” I said. “They released you without charge?” 

He nodded, rubbing a hand over his tired face. “The FBI questioned me ruthlessly for two days in relation to the murders; I’ve barely slept. All the while, their cronies completely tore apart my home, searching for… For goodness knows what. My partner was helpless to watch on as they destroyed our belongings.” His façade finally crumpled and his shoulders slumped. 

“Oh, no. Oh, Bill.” I took the basket from his hand, but he gripped it tightly.

“It’s not me, Sookie,” he said urgently, his voice coarse, rough. “I didn’t do it.” I searched his desperate eyes and, after a long moment, I finally nodded. I believed him. 

“I know.” 

People were beginning to stare so I helped him with the rest of his groceries and, at my own insistence, I followed him back to his home. He lived off the highway, maybe halfway between Chester and Douglas, at the top of a long winding gravel driveway. The home was beautiful, far outside a ranger’s budget, the gardens neat and tidied. 

The front garden featured a handcrafted garden bench in polished pine overlooking a small reedy pond, and I followed Bill in through the front doors into the home. He hung his coat in the large open entryway, and under tall frosted windows, I admired a large wooden sculpture, two hands reaching for one another from emerging ribbons of thick timber. 

“It’s beautiful,” I said, running my hand along the ribbony whorl leading to a thumb.

“Russell did that,” Bill said faintly before calling out to Russell through the house. Russell? Russell Edgington?

“William.” Russell appeared and grasped Bill’s hands, holding them wide as he looked him up and down. “My god, my love. What did they do to you?” 

“Nothing untoward.” Russell drew Bill into a tight hug. 

“It’s over now,” Russell said, rubbing Bill’s back soothingly. He looked over Bill’s shoulder to me. “Sookie Stackhouse,” he said. He was puzzled to see me. 

“Hello, Russell." I had to admit I was puzzled to see him too. "I hear y'all are in need help setting your home back to rights.” He smiled and simply nodded. Bill went to shower and change as I helped Russell in their kitchen. 

“We’ve been here 23 years now,” Russell remarked. “Married for two.” He lifted his hand, wiggling his fingers. A thin platinum band with embedded diamonds sparkled attractively on his ring finger. His hands were roughened and calloused from woodworking. It made for an interesting contrast against the pretty ring. I wondered why Bill didn’t wear a ring.

“I never knew. Bill never mentioned…” Cutlery was strewn throughout the drawers so I set about reorganizing it as Russell unpacked the groceries. 

Russell shrugged. “We aren’t reclusive. At least I’m certainly not!” He laughed. “Bill had a troubled upbringing. He’s happier living the quiet life.” 

“Small town small talk is hard.” 

_Flit._ Of course. I could’ve groaned. That’s what Bud had written in his notebook about Bill’s alibi. Flit. It was an old-school slur for homosexual. I should’ve known. I’d never heard anyone other than old Maxine Fortenberry use it when describing Lafayette. Rude old so-and-so, she was. Bud must’ve confirmed Bill’s alibi back in the day against Russell.

“It’s not so much that. Bill’s the oldest son in his family.” Russell leaned back against the kitchen counter, running a hand through his thick dark hair. “Their expectations of him were enormous. Sometimes I wonder if he’ll ever let them go.” 

“His family or their expectations?”

“Both.” He smiled wanly, wrinkles gathering around his eyes.

I offered to make them dinner and my Gran’s apple pie, and Russell kissed me warmly on the cheek in thanks. “I owe Bill,” I said to Russell. 

“I love that man, but you most certainly do not owe him a thing. He needs a friend, Sookie. If you can be a friend to him then we are both grateful.” 

I prepared beef bourguignon and then the pie. I left the pie in the fridge ready for baking whenever they wished and the stew simmering slowly on the stove. Russell and Bill in the meantime tidied up the living room, every book from their floor to ceiling shelves had been strewn on the floor; and then Bill made a start in the small office / sunroom that adjoined the living space, trying to make sense of the scattered paperwork. 

After, Russell made a tray of coffee, the three of us sitting out in a large courtyard at the back of their home, watching as Bonnie inspected the garden, nose down, tail up and wagging. The garden featured more sculptures, all beautiful abstract works by Russell. 

“These are remarkable,” I said to Russell. I walked to the largest in the garden, running my fingertips along a surreal looking curved wooden archway. It was as if he'd carved the wood from something as insubstantial as smoke, like he'd made something from nothing. “Quite unlike your furniture design.” 

“We married under the archway,” Bill said. They shared a meaningful look and smiled. “Russell made it especially.”

“What about you, Ms. Stackhouse? Did your special man enjoy his Christmas gift?” Russell asked.

“He loved it,” I enthused. “I think he’s been using it every day. He was quite taken with the design.” 

“I’ve no doubt. A gift to appeal to any Scandinavian. They’re especially fond of function preceding form.” 

Russell and Bill walked me through the garden, Russell showcasing his talents before I excused myself to use the bathroom. When I was finished, I walked back up the hallway, my feet striking against the wooden floorboards. The clap of my boots echoed down the hall. I stopped. The sound sent me straight back to my dream. The one with the girl in the basement, the two of us listening to the strike of feet above us on floorboards. I turned on the spot slowly, a cold prickly sensation sweeping across me. 

The doors in the wide hallway were all open… Bar one. I moved to it quickly, quietly. It was a smaller doorway, smaller than the rest, set in a dark alcove just before where the hallway turned to meet the living space. 

I tried the handle, surprised when it turned easily. The door swung open, revealing steps that lead down into a dark space. The cold prickling turned swiftly to sucking dread. My hand blindly patted the inside wall searching for a light switch. Was this the place? Was this the place from my dreams? 

Light bathed the stairwell and I let out a huge sigh. The stonework and steep staircase I expected to see weren’t there at all. Instead of a basement, I was looking into a very small timber sub-room containing only a furnace, hot water heater, and laundry. 

I shut off the light and closed the door, reminding myself this was not my mystery to solve. I attempted to shrug off the feeling as I walked back outside to my coffee and friends. Easier said than done.


	31. Awake and Dreaming

After I left the men, I made the slow drive home, Bonnie snoozing away and spread out along the back seat. When I got back to the cabin, I messaged Eric asking him over for lunch. He called me back within moments. 

"I'm on a writing roll. I'll come over tonight once I've run out of steam. I'm aiming for dinner time." 

"Sure thing, hon," I said, balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder as I put groceries away. "I'll see you when I see you." 

I prepared a simple lunch, I was all cooked out for the day after helping Bill and Russell. Tinned tomato soup and grilled cheese. After, I took Bonnie for a walk down to the lake and back. It was the furthest I’d been since that fateful day. Though it was blisteringly cold and overcast, Bonnie and I each worked up a good sweat. I checked my toes and ankle when I returned. I’d downgraded from the bulky bandage around my ankle to an elastic ankle strap. So far so good. My ankle ached a little, but the swelling had nearly subsided and my range of motion was back. My toe dressings were fine too. Small blessings!

Through the afternoon, I caught up on some emails and Skyped with Jason and my nephews. Jason didn’t seem as worried about me as he had the last time we spoke, that was back when I was still in the hospital. I promised him I was looking after myself, and we discussed tentative dates for summer. He’d need to book time off well in advance if he was taking all his vacation leave and some extra unpaid time off in one hit. I was thrilled and totally tempted to start crossing days off the calendar in anticipation. My cheer deflated a little when it occurred to me there would be a new neighbor in the rental next door by then. Eric would be long gone.

Eric eventually messaged to tell me he wouldn’t be joining me for dinner, though I figured as much. I missed his company but I couldn’t say it honestly bothered me. How many nights had I worked late in my life? Almost every night. I knew how satisfying it was to get on a roll at work. And I was also more than used to solitude... Not just from living in the cabin, but also that year and a half back in Shreveport after Alcide had died.

The afternoon darkened earlier than usual thanks to the thick cloud cover and I defrosted a serve of chicken casserole from the freezer, eating it on the couch in front of the TV with a glass of wine. After dinner, I showered, taking time to shave and lotion my legs and changed into my Christmas gift from Jason: adult-sized onesie pajamas. Baby pink with white snowflakes. It even had a hood with bright pink pom-pom tassels. It was ridiculous. Of course that meant I absolutely loved it. I got the fire good and roaring, then laid out on the couch. Despite how funny it was, I managed to drift off about halfway through an episode of _Santa Clarita Diet_.

…

“You’re back,” she whispered.

I blinked and looked around. The hanging fluorescent light flickered on and off, the cobbled stone wall flashing in and out of view. She was seated on the ratty sofa where I’d seen Sarah last. This wasn't Sarah though, this was another familiar face. Jade Knight.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my heart breaking. “I want to help you… But it’s too late.” I reached out and grasped her hand like I had Mel’s. Jade smiled sadly but I somehow knew it wasn’t due to her predicament but rather in sympathy with my own emotions. She felt bad that I felt bad.

“Life’s not fair, why should death be?” she replied simply. The footsteps began above and she didn’t even flinch, though her fingers tightened around my hand.  
“Who? Who is it?” I asked. The footsteps traveled across space of the ceiling above us heading with dreadful inevitability toward the basement door.

“He’s never told me his name… How fucking bunk is that?” She covered her apologetic smile with her free hand. “Whoops – sorry, language. But you know this place. I know you do.”

It was hard to drag my eyes away from Jade, away from her pretty, freckled face. It was one thing to see these girls as they were immortalized in their photos on the conference room walls of the police station… Seeing her now - alive, as it were. Surreal. I drew myself away and turned, desperately trying to take in every minute detail, the location of every little thing - just trying to search for something that might trigger a memory or some understanding of where I was. My eyes scanned the ceiling, noticing dark splotches across the ceiling and exposed beams.

“I don’t know this place!” I cried. “I really don’t.” I turned back to Jade. Her face was now grim, stony; the spitting image of her mother, Glenda.

“Just listen,” Jade hissed. “Listen!” I closed my eyes tight, trying to listen, trying to understand; I could hear something but it was faint… The basement door opened before I could make any sense of it. Footsteps began down wooden stairs. I dived for Jade and gathered her into my arms, shielding her from whatever was coming.

“Sookie!” Eric yelled. I thrashed, trying to hold onto her tighter, but strong hands descended grasping my arms. “Sookie! Wake up!”

I was still yelling as I woke, the space where I thought I was holding Jade transforming into thin air. Bonnie was barking over and over. I gasped, sobbing for breath and pushed Eric’s hands away from me, stumbling backward. I was standing. Standing in the dark. The air cold as a tomb, my body shivering. I nearly slipped but he caught me by the elbow. 

“Christ, Sookie. What the hell is going on? Are you okay?”

I spun around on the spot, trying to make sense of where I was, a small part of me expecting to see the flicker of fluorescents, to smell the mildew of that basement room. Instead, I was in the forest, standing in snow. The night dark as pitch. I looked, wild-eyed and panting, back to Eric. He was holding his cell-phone, the flashlight turned on; it illuminated his face, morphing his concerned features with strange abstract shadows.

“Sleepwalking?” he asked, he looked down my legs and swore. “Your feet!” He scooped me up immediately, carrying my shivering form back up the hill. I had no clue where we were but Bonnie led the way.

“I don’t know what happened,” I said. “I fell asleep on the couch.” I clung to his neck, slipping my cold fingers under his collar. The contrast in temperature was so stark his skin burned against my fingers.

“Keep shivering,” he said. “You’re too cold. You need to keep your body temp up.”

“How did you find me?” My teeth chattered.

“I heard Bonnie barking from my place. Over and over. I called you… You didn’t pick up. I drove over and found your sliding door wide open, the lights and TV on.” He pressed a firm, warm kiss onto my forehead. “Fuck… I thought...” He words were mumbled against my skin and took a deep breath. “I followed the sound of Bonnie. You were there just trudging silently in the dark.”

As he walked on, I realized just how far I’d traveled. I was nearly at the lake, but almost a mile to the right of my place. I’ve ventured into national park territory, but across and past multiple properties neighboring me on the opposite side of Eric’s place. Where on earth was I going?

Eric deposited me by the fire in the cabin, stripping me out of the onesie and wrapping me in a blanket. He left then returned some fast moments later with a plastic tub filled with warm water, then pushed me in the armchair to face the fireplace. Eric crouched, gently placing each foot into the water. Bonnie settled beside the armchair, resting her head in my lap.

“My toes…” I said. I couldn’t bear to look. The pins and needles were burning. Eric lifted each foot tenderly from the tub, examining them by the firelight.

“They’re red but okay. Maybe a little frostnip. Thank god you had the bandaged on your blistered toes. It protected them. They’re not even wet…" He looked up at me. "How long have you been sleepwalking, Sookie?”

“Nothing like this has ever happened before.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” he responded tersely, immersing my foot again.

“The last few nights, I guess. Just waking up in random places in the cabin.”

“And your dreams?”

“Still weird,” I said, focusing on stroking Bonnie’s head as she drifted off. “I’ve been dreaming about the murdered girls and a room. I think it’s the room where they were killed.” I shifted uncomfortably under the strength of his gaze. It was like he was fighting a battle between concern and disappointment.

“You should’ve told me.”

I shrugged helplessly.

“Have you told your psychologist?” he asked.

“What are you saying? I’m not crazy.” Weren’t we having this conversation, but with the roles reversed, only a month ago? “I’m not.”

“Of course you’re not,” he said, squeezing my knee. “But you’ve been through a shock and I think—"

“You think I’d benefit from professional help,” I finished bitterly.

I knew that line. I’d heard it before. From Jason, Desmond, and even Alcide's mother, Joy; they’d all urged me at different points to seek help for my mental state. The thing was, even though I hated hearing it then - just like I did now – at least back then I knew deep-down that I needed the help. I had been floundering. But now…? I was fine. I felt sane. Okay, maybe a little worse for wear and tired, but I had a firm grasp of things. I didn’t need help. I needed _to_ help. The deaths of those girls, they weighed heavily on me.

“I’m worried you’re becoming obsessed.”

The words were like a slap. I brushed his hand from my knee and narrowed my eyes at him. "What exactly have I done in the last two weeks that would indicate to you that I'm obsessed?" 

"You're not sleeping! You're distracted. I can see your mind turning things over, again and again. And you have this look in your eye... Like you're..." He waved his hand around, searching for the word. 

"Like I'm haunted?" 

"Yes." 

"Has it occurred to you that maybe I am?" 

His expression froze for half a second before he looked angrier than before. "What is that meant to mean? Is weird shit happening again? Is Eurynomos back?” I didn’t answer and he stood up and began pacing. “Fuck! Tell me what I'm meant to do here!" 

"I don't fucking know!" I yelled. "I don't know! I have no clue what to tell you. I have no clue what to do! All I know is that I'm trying my hardest to deal with this shit, and it's like it won't let me go. I can't fucking relax for a minute. I can't even sleep without having these awful, awful dreams where I'm trapped watching the last moments of these poor girls' lives over and over. I feel like I have to be out there," I gestured angrily to the enormous windows, out into the darkness, "and doing something. _Anything._ ’Cause I'm going crazy doing nothing. It's hanging on me, like an enormous, heavy fog and I am slowly coming undone!" 

"It's not your fucking responsibility, Sookie," he ground out. "You can't save the world." 

"You think I don't know that?" I said, shaking my head slowly. I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. "I don't even have to do anything and people drop dead like flies around me. I can't save shit." 

"That's not what I meant," he said coming to a standstill. He sighed too. "So tell me, what would you do if you were to do something?" I didn't have an answer for that. Eric lifted his hands in defeat and retreated to the kitchen. He returned a few minutes later, pressing a cup of warm tea into my hand.

“What are you looking at?” he asked, his gaze following mine as it stared through the tall windows into the night. 

He cursed in Swedish the moment he saw what I was seeing. Eurynomos. Standing tall in the highest branches of the highest Douglas fir beside my house, watching us.

“Dot was onto something, wasn’t she?” I asked tiredly. “We’re not going to work with all… this hanging around.” Eric had no answer. What could he say? I gulped down the tea and stood up.

“Don’t you get any ideas,” he growled. “You’re not going out there again.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake! You must really think I’m dumb as a post. As far as I’m concerned, whats-his-face is free to keep stalking me as long as damn well he likes, but I ain’t going anywhere. Following him nearly killed me the first time.” 

Eric blinked in surprise. That was not the answer he was expecting. I slowly stepped out of the plastic tub, careful to shake off the extra drips. Mindful of my current state of undress, I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders, lifted my chin and thrust the mug back into Eric’s hands.

“I’m going to have a hot shower, change into clean pajamas and then Bonnie and I are sleeping at your place tonight.”

“But…” he said. I shot him a severe look silencing him. “Dot?” he finished lamely.

“I want you. You want me. I’m done overthinking it tonight and you have a book to write.” I stood on tip-toes and kissed him as fiercely as I could muster before marching upstairs.

Later, I was curled up in his bed feeling toasty and listening to the click-clack of Eric typing beside me. His forehead was pinched with concentration, the screen reflected on his glasses. He felt my gaze on him and his rapid-fire typing quietened.

“I like seeing you like this,” he said.

“Oh?” I returned his smile.

“Looking at home in my bed. Your hair sprawled out. In your sexiest nightwear.”

I laughed. I was wearing red plaid pajamas that were very baggy, worn and loved. “Don’t tease,” I said.

“Never.” Roaming fingers reached out and undid the top two buttons of the flannel shirt. “See? Sexy.”

“I suppose the next thing you’ll be saying is how motivating it is too.”

“Well, it is true, although I wouldn’t be truly motivated for a few more buttons…” I swatted his fingers away.

“My shirt is staying on, thank you.”

“A shame.” He shook his head. “But, I’m pretty sure I have inspiration on my phone from last month.” He began patting around his nightstand and I grabbed for his arms frantically, until we were both belly laughing. It was one thing for me to send nude photos, and quite another to be reminded of them. He ended up placing his laptop and lap desk on the floor, but I grabbed his hand before he could remove his glasses too.

“Leave them on,” I said, biting my lip.

“You like them do you?” His brow arched provocatively.

“You betcha.” To show him just how much, I unbuttoned my shirt the rest of the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think of this chapter as the final breath you take before you begin a big (scary) race.  
> Four chapters left.  
> Also, a great big thank you to everyone who has been leaving comments and reviews. I'm so grateful and appreciative of them all. I've been so surprised by the time and effort you have put into providing thoughtful feedback for me. You guys are the best.


	32. Beginning of the End

Tara called me first thing in the morning, dragging me from my sleep. Eric slept through the buzzing of my cell, little wonder, after our romp in the bedsheets he’d stayed up until the early hours writing.

“Get your ass outta bed, Stackhouse.” Tara's voice barked through the phone. “We’ve finally got a day without the feds crawling across the station.”

“Huh?” It was about as eloquent as I got first-thing without coffee.

“Agent Dickface and Suck-up have gone back to the city. They’ve confirmed that the fours skulls are the girls now, and they have to go back for some bureaucratic paper shuffling or something-or-rather and they won’t be back till late tomorrow. They locked up the briefing room with all our investigative work inside.” She let out a frustrated yell, and I moved the phone away from my ear. “Can you believe it?! So mother-fucking entitled!” 

“Okay… Why do you want me there?” 

“I have a spare key, of course. Kenya’s comin’ in on her day off. Kevin and Brady are manning the station for the day so we can just focus. We’ve got all the pieces here, Sook. I feel it. I feel it in my bones. Let’s crack it while they’re gone.” 

“Tara…” I sat up a little and rubbed my eyes blearily. “I shouldn’t be involved.” 

“Want me to deputize you?” 

Well, that sure woke me up.

“Oh my God,” I hissed, turning away from Eric so I wouldn’t wake him. “Don’t be crazy! This isn’t some hick-Western novella.” 

“Yeah - but you know the ins-and-outs of this case almost as well as I do.” 

“Not really! Not enough to warrant you going all vigilante! I’m sure the FBI uncovered more since they stepped in.” 

She snorted loudly. “Not hardly. There’s some extra forensic evidence. They’ve shaken down a few locals. They’re fumbling through this as much as I was.” 

“You weren’t fumbling, Tara.” I sighed and looked over to the alarm clock. 7:17 am. Sweet baby Jesus. “Okay. I’m not even going to speak about the legal implications of doing this. If you get in trouble for this you’re not even to breathe my name. You hear me? I’m having a shower before I leave, and I expect breakfast waiting for me.”

“Done.” Tara hung up. 

I rolled out of bed and shuffled downstairs to the kitchen, building the fire back up and filling up a bowl of kibble for Bonnie from the pack I kept in Eric’s pantry. I stood out on the patio while she did her business at the edge of the yard. It was a little harder to keep an eye on Bon from Eric’s deck with the steep incline of the land, but she came bounding back up to me a moment later. I dressed quietly and left Eric a note, wondering if he’d want to meet me for lunch in town. I didn’t want to distract him from his writing-roll.

Tara had a breakfast burrito and hot coffee waiting for me when I arrived. Kenya was already in the briefing room, dressed in plain clothes, her head buried in some files. 

“You better fill me in on what’s been happening,” I said as Tara closed the door behind us. Kenya looked up and nodded at me before returning to her work. 

We joined her at the table and Tara opened her laptop for me. “Forensics reports,” she explained. “All four appear to have suffered blunt force trauma to the back or side of the head. Since the fifth, unknown victim, was headless, it wouldn’t be surprising if they followed that same pattern. Coroner said it’s almost certainly the cause of death. Although, she can’t say for sure. Maybe he hit them to knock them out and then asphyxiated them. Either way, the blows would’ve been enough to kill them if left long enough.” 

“Holy shit.” In my mind, I saw Sarah’s wide innocent eyes filled with fear. Jade’s too. Their grim acceptance as the steps sounded across the floor.

“I know,” Tara murmured quietly. She took a deep fortifying breath and moved through tabs on the screen, bringing up more documentation. “In terms of trace evidence, there wasn’t a whole lot to salvage from the remains of clothing. Some rocks in Jade’s shoes. Some carpet fibers in another shoe. Along with this…” She enlarged an image of the bottom of a shoe with a smear of light silver color across the edge of the sole. 

“What is that?” 

“Paint, according to forensics. Car paint, most likely. Waiting on further analysis for confirmation.” 

“From whose shoe?” 

“Sarah Johnson.”

The silver appeared as a swipe like the shoe had somehow skidded against wet paint, though it was extremely smooth. 

“It looks weird. You’d think if it was wet paint it would have dried messily when she’d try to walk on it.” 

“It could be nothing. And it’s not from wet paint. It might not even be as a result of the crime.” 

“No. Definitely wasn’t left there by wet paint. It looks like she’s skidded her boot across something,” Kenya said, leaning over to look at the screen. 

“She would’ve had to skid her foot damn hard to leave paint behind on the sole of her shoe,” Tara said, chewing her lip thoughtfully. 

“Maybe she was struggling and kicked the car? Who had a silver car back then?”

Tara snorted. “Who didn’t would be an easier question to answer. Even your truck is silver, Sook. It’s the most common paint color.” 

I tried to think back. Who owned a silver car? I could barely remember anyone’s car from the 90s. 

“Bill had a maroon chevy. Terry was getting around in his parents white van. Then there’s the others the FBI have questioned – Buck, Sam, Rene, Rodney, even old Robbie. Rene had a silver pickup, we’re in the process of getting a warrant once the forensic tech comes back tomorrow with the feds. He’s still got it out the back of his place under a tarp.”

“Rene?” I asked. “Do they think he’s involved?” I recalled his watchful gaze at the bar on New Years’ Eve. It was probably nothing… but still. I shivered. To be so close to someone who had done something so awful, it gave me the heebie-jeebies.

“Well, his alibi leaves a lot to be desired,” Tara said. 

“But so do most of theirs,” Kenya cut in. “Who can remember what they did on four specific dates twenty years ago?” 

“What about Bill?” 

“Why do you ask?” Tara replied cautiously. 

“I saw him yesterday.” She stared at me hard and I stared straight back. 

“There’s nothing there,” she said. “He’s innocent.” 

“I coulda told you that.” 

“Except gut feelings aren’t enough to rule out suspects. And not enough for you to say ‘I told you so’. I’ll never wrap my head around this Southern pride bullshit.” 

“You know damn well it was nothing to do with that.” We both gave each other dirty looks until Tara’s lips twitched and we both started laughing, breaking the tension. 

We sifted through piles of reports and evidence until lunch. Kenya was busy chasing up the warrant, hoping to get it expedited before forensics returned, although, according to Tara, old Judge Barroway was next to impossible to contact on his days off barring an emergency. 

Tara walked with me down to the diner to grab our lunch order, the both of us rugging up as snow started steadily falling again.

“So things are good with you and Eric?”

“Oh, yeah. They’re good.” During the parts when I’m not being haunted or chased by demons.

“You gonna tell me what happened there?” 

“Dysfunctional relationship with his ex-wife. He thought he’d offend my sense of morality by telling me.” Yes, I was oversimplifying it, but it was true enough. 

“Oh. My. God.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Men.” I made a sound of resigned agreement. What a doofus. “You sure he’d divorced?” 

“What do you think?” I asked, smirking. 

“I think your control freak ass would’ve checked for court documents the second after he told you.” 

“Damn straight. He is 100% divorced.” 

Tara chuckled and we grabbed our meals. Soup and subs to go. We walked back the way we came. 

“How do you suppose Sam came to know Eric was married?” Tara asked thoughtfully. She was engulfed in her winter sheriff’s jacket, a knitted maroon beanie embroidered with the Sheriff’s department logo pulled low over her forehead making her appear sterner that usual. 

I opened my mouth to answer but found I didn’t have any. “I… I don’t know. I hadn’t even thought about it. And why would he bring it up with you specifically?” Eric and Sam were friends so I guess Eric might’ve said something to him about it, but then surely Sam would’ve known Eric was divorced.

“Beats me. It was left field. I was arranging to meet him for questioning and he just came out of nowhere asking if I knew.” 

“It’s not like Sam to stick his nose in other’s business,” I said. But he’d done it more than once – asking that pointedly uncomfortable question about Eric’s future at Lake Douglas while I was standing right there at the New Year’s party. Weird. “Maybe he was trying to warn me off Eric...” 

“Or cause trouble.” Tara chewed her lip and simply shrugged when I shared a questioning look with her. 

“But why? Sam’s not a troublemaker.” I’d have to ask Eric. I knew he was better friends with Sam than I was these days. 

“Maybe he’s carrying a torch for you?” she teased. “You guys did spend those summers together, with you in that little red swimsuit.”

“Oh, shut your mouth, Tara. I was barely 18.” A blush prickled my cheeks still, I had definitely harbored a crush for him back in the day, even though there was a good ten years difference between us… And he was my supervisor. I never suspected he returned my feelings. He was pretty caught up on Dawn during those years.

The afternoon crawled along fruitlessly. I totally got the same sense that Tara had. There was a missing piece. We could all feel it. Kenya let out a beleaguered groan and slammed her laptop closed. 

“This is ridiculous. We’re not getting anywhere. Barroway is unreachable and we’re just wasting our time reviewing the same thing over and over.”

“Got a better idea?” Tara shot back. Kenya stood and pulled her coat on, snatching her purse from the table. In civilian clothes, she looked almost personable. Almost.

“Yeah, I do.” 

Ten minutes later, three of us stood on King Avenue, bracing against the bitter cold looking up and down the street. It was the street where Sarah Johnson was last seen riding her bike some twenty years earlier. We walked its length, our frigid fingers stuffed into coat pockets, snow falling lightly. Tara and I scanned the street ahead and around us, Kenya walking slowly backward. We were trying to get a feel of what Sarah would have seen, what might’ve gone through her mind that night. 

“What do you think?” I asked Tara. 

“Whip Jennings saw her riding on this side of the road,” she said, gesturing along the path. “I think if she was riding she would’ve only slowed if she spotted someone coming her way. She’d be less inclined to stop riding and talk to someone if they were approaching her from behind.” 

“She’d slow or stop if it was someone familiar approaching her head on,” Kenya said.

“Coming from that way toward her.” Tara pointed down King Ave. The road led straight to the entrance of the park. 

“It was about 9 pm, right?” I asked. 

“Uh-huh,” Kenya said, looking down at her notes. 

“Mid-summer, the sun sets about 8:30-9ish.” 

“That could be significant,” Kenya said, writing it in her notebook. A car passed and both the women raised their hands in the automatic small-town wave. Less a greeting, more an ingrained habit of acknowledgment all townsfolk did.

“What time did your lifeguard shifts finish in summer, Sook?” 

“Um…” I thought back. “Around nine, I think. Sometimes earlier if it was quiet. Most day-trippers would be out of the water for a while by then, but we had to organise the lifeguard shed, pack our stuff away. But Sarah went missing years before I ever worked the lake. Could’ve been different then.” The lifeguard shed served as the first aid area and equipment storage unit. It also had a sink and simple amenities for our shift breaks.

“Rene was a supervising lifeguard then too,” Kenya said. “Sam, the same.” 

“Whoever was supervising would be the last to lock-up and leave,” I said.

“So, let’s say Rene finished up his shift. Drives his silver pickup down the road, picks up Sarah, maybe willingly…” Kenya began. 

“Or against her will, if it was dark enough,” I finished. “She kicks the car in her struggle, smearing the paint on her shoe.” 

“No,” Tara said, shaking her head. “There’s no way she could kick it hard enough in a struggle to leave behind an impression of paint on her shoe like that.” She walked over to the white police cruiser and pressed her foot as hard as she could along the bumper. It squealed and squeaked as it slid downward. Kenya and I crouched to examine the bottom of Tara’s shoe. It was paint free. “I don’t think paint could smear off like that unless it was caused by strong, sustained pressure over a period of time,” she said.

“Okay...” I said. “Maybe she managed to do it if she was tied up in the back of his pickup.” 

“But why would she be pressing so hard against the inside of the pickup tray?” Kenya said. “That makes no sense.” 

“What if she was trapped in the trunk of someone’s car?” Tara asked suddenly. She held out her hands and Kenya tossed her the keys. She popped the trunk of the police cruiser and we looked inside the lid of the trunk door. It was lined with black plastic. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen the inside of a car trunk painted the same color of the car,” I said. “It’s normally plastic or that heavy duty carpet they use to line the bottom of trunks.” 

Tara checked her watch. “C’mon, let’s go back. I’ll stop by Tray Dawson’s workshop on the way home and see if he knows of any specific make or model that has paint inside of the trunk door.” 

We parted ways that afternoon, the three of us smiling and energized. It was a weak lead but it was something. 

* * *

I used Eric’s spare key to let myself in through his front door. After I left the station in Douglas, I’d driven into Chester to pick up an order from the bookshop I’d placed before Christmas. New books might help keep my mind off things. It would help fill the empty space on my bookshelf too. When I got back to Eric’s, I was surprised to find him standing at the stove in his kitchen, beer in hand, music blaring… something by The Strokes. 

Bonnie trotted over to her from around the corner, her woodfire warmed body slinking against my thigh. I gave Bon an idle pat and snuck up behind Eric wrapping him in a tight hug from behind. “Hey, you.” 

He didn’t answer, simply spun around and dipped me into a toe-curling kiss. He pulled away and smirked at my breathless reaction. 

“I finished the first draft,” he said. 

“Get out!” I thumped his chest in excitement and he brought me back to rights. “We gotta celebrate!” 

“Mm… Yes, I definitely deserve congratulations.” He began nuzzling my neck, hands unbuttoning my coat searching for bare skin beneath layers. I looked around his shoulder following the smell of something enticing and saw the enormous pot of chili bubbling away. 

“Don’t tell me you’re beginning to meal prep.” 

He chuckled a low sound that reverberated through my shoulder and straight to the juncture between my legs. I moaned a pleasant reply and he followed up the chuckle with a series of nips and kisses.

“I was talking to Sam earlier and he and Mel are coming round for dinner.” He explained this as his mouth trailed up towards my ear. 

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. 

Eric wandered to the fridge and retrieved a beer for me. “Thirsty?”

“You bet.” He opened the beer and then lifted me up onto the kitchen counter, stepping solidly between my thighs. I took the beer from his hand and we smiled at each other for a moment. “So, what now?” I hooked my legs around the back of his.

“I still need to tweak it a little before I submit it. Then lots of back and forth work between me and the editor.” 

“No, I mean…” I studied at his chest, trailing a finger around the button of his red flannel shirt. “I mean, when do you go back?” 

He lifted my chin with a finger, his brow pinched. “You think I’m planning on ditching you?”

“What? No,” I said. “Definitely not. It’s not ditching. We are … what we are. We each came to the lake for a reason.” I flashed him what I hoped was a light-hearted smile. “And you’ve finished what you came here to do.” 

“…We are what we are?” His words took on a hard edge.

“You know what I mean.” I lifted my hands and huffed. “Neither of us live here. We’re temporary neighbors. We both have our own lives to go back to.” 

He leaned back. “Is that how you see us? Neighbors that just screw around?” 

“That’s not what I said. You’re taking my words out of context.” 

“Then please, go ahead – explain the context.” He stepped all the way back and folded his arms. I silently cursed myself for even bringing up the question. I was so not in the mood for this conversation. 

I sighed and placed the beer down onto the counter. “You can’t tell me you didn’t know there was an expiration date when it came to us.” 

“Maybe I believed that initially. But this is more than a simple fling.” His expression dared me to challenge him.

“That hardly changes the circumstances. New York and Louisiana. We live, like, five hours and two flights away from one another. Whatever we are or aren’t doesn’t change those facts.” 

“Whatever we are or aren’t?” he said incredulously, his eyes flashing with anger and hurt. “Don’t make out what we have is less significant than it is.” 

“And don’t make us out to be more than we can be!” 

“What’s stopping us? What’s the worst scenario here? We live happily ever after?” 

“Eric…” 

“No, really - what? What’s the harm in trying? I have a few more months here on my lease, we can give it a trial run. I can probably extend my lease until summer or I --” 

“Enough!” I cried. “What are you aiming for?! Why are you trying to force this? Can’t we just…?” I gestured between us. Couldn’t we just rewind and continue what we were doing a minute ago? When we were still cuddling and possibly about to engage in kitchen foreplay?

“I don’t want to force anything – but we need to talk about it.” He shook his head in frustration, the hair I’d swept from his forehead falling free. “I want us to be on the same page. I see you, Sookie. I know you feel the way I do. Even if you deny it to yourself. You feel something too. You’re hiding from yourself.” 

I shook my head too and pinched my lips shut. He stepped close again, so close I was forced to look up to meet his gaze. We were almost nose to nose. 

“I’m falling in love with you,” he said. My expression and heart dropped with a perfect, dreadful timing.

“No,” I whispered in horror, my vision clouding with tears. “You’re not allowed to do that.” I pushed him away and hopped off the bench. “You’re not allowed to do that. You can’t say that to me.” 

I walked away but he clasped my arm. “Is that so bad? Is it so awful if I love you?” I wrenched my arm free. 

“Yes! It is!” 

“Then maybe I was wrong about you.” His gaze hardened and his hand fell away. It was like a door swiftly closing between me and his emotions. My discomfort morphed quickly to panic.

“I can’t… I can’t.” My hands lifted in a lost, meaningless gesture. “We were meant to be risk-free. This was meant to be risk-free. I can’t...” Words failed me and a tear slipped down my cheek. I swiped it away on the sleeve of my coat. 

“You can’t what? What do you mean risk-free?” 

“I can’t do this! Us.” 

“Why the hell not? What is so awful about us that you can’t even entertain the notion of us having a future?” 

We stood across from one another, my mouth drying up, The Strokes playing on loudly. He growled in frustration and stalked over to his bluetooth speaker, switching it off, the silence a sudden stark contrast.

“There’s not enough left of me to break again, Eric,” I said quietly. “I won’t survive it.” 

“You think I’m going to break your heart?” 

I let out of low, humorless chuckle looking past him out the window. I couldn’t expect him to get it. He approached me and though I refused to meet his gaze, he pulled me into his arms. He held my stiff form tight against him, keeping me in place, cocooning me in his scent. I bit my lip until it pinched with pain. God, he was so warm and comforting. A soft sob escaped from me. 

“You’re going to die one day, Eric.” 

The steady rise and fall of his chest briefly faltered.

“Is that was this is about?” I pressed my face into his shirt, unwilling to respond. “Oh, Sookie…” 

We remained that way for countless minutes, his hands holding me firmly to him, my shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. I tried my hardest to pull it together. But the admission was as painful as the fear itself.

“I won’t die for a long time,” he said finally. “A long, long time.” He rested his cheek against the top of my head, his fingers gently tracing along the nape of my neck. 

“You can’t promise that,” I croaked. 

“No one can. But I’m not exactly in a dangerous career. I’m healthy. I live a very safe life. What could I possibly die from? Death by papercut?” Despite it all, I laughed quietly and I felt his smile against the crown of my head. 

We kissed and this time when his hands slipped under the layers of my clothing I helped him along, unbuttoning my coat the rest of the way and then working my fingers lifting his shirt over his head. I needed the feel of his skin against mine. I just needed him. With me. In me. All around me.

We didn’t stop kissing as he lifted me back onto the counter, our clothes gathering in a pile on the floor. I loved the feel of his lips on mine, of the sure path his hands trailing across my body, of his body under my own fingers. I struggled out of my jeans and he grinned valiantly when he pulled them from my legs with one smooth motion and the pulled the same routine on his own jeans. 

“Too much practice,” I grumbled, though my joke fell a little flat thanks to my shaky voice. Then we were kissing again, words silenced by the distractions of bare flesh. I hooked my arms around his neck and we both groaned when he finally entered me, his hands holding my hips securely. He felt so right.

“Sookie…” he whispered when our eyes met. Tears immediately sprung, my heart was raw, but I buried it all crushing my lips to his. It wasn’t lost on either of us that our argument wasn’t resolved and that I hadn’t agreed to any sort of future together. When his hips began moving, I moaned his name in relief. He chased away any lingering thoughts that remained and, though I would never dare admit it out loud, some of my lingering doubts too.

After we managed to disentangle and clean up, I helped Eric throw together a garden salad and he set out some frozen bread rolls ready for baking when Sam and Mel arrived. Eric was in a great mood, a skip in his step, pulling me in for the occasional kiss, singing along with the music. It was a little hard to rain on his parade. I mean, the man had just finished writing the last book on a hugely restrictive publishing contract. His carefree attitude was infectious and I wasn't going to mar it in any way by telling him about my grim day helping Tara or even Sam's weird possible-interfering with us. We'd already argued... though he seemed happy with the way things had settled between us, or maybe he was still riding that post-orgasm high. He caught me smiling from across the kitchen at him and the gorgeous crooked grin I received in return made my stomach flip-flop. Maybe I was still riding that high too.

“Sorry I’m late!” Sam said, stomping the snow off his boots before coming inside. “I was waiting around for Mel to knock off but she had to stay behind for some emergency surgery at work. She’ll come up when’s finished. Shouldn’t be too long. I brought beers!” 

“Good man,” Eric said, clapping him on the back. 

“Hey Sook!” 

“Hey Sam.”

We ended up nursing our bowls of chili around the long and narrow coffee table in Eric's living space, while Sam and I taught Eric the basic premise of the game Bullshit. It was a card game that was played frequently on days at the lake or any time a group of us got together. Jason, Rene and a few of the older crew had devised a drinking version of the game, which made for a few outlandish nights. Eric picked it up quickly and he brought out a couple six packs of beer into the living area so we could play and drink uninterrupted. 

“You actually have to cheat for the game to be fun,” Sam grumbled good-naturedly, as he picked up another stack of cards after incorrectly calling my bluff for the third time. 

“Oh, but I am cheating, I’m just too good. You can’t tell.” I winked at him. 

“It’s all in the profession,” Eric said. I flicked the cap of my beer at him and he dodged it with a smirk. 

“I’ll have you know I’m the most professional lawyer you’ll ever meet.” 

“That’s not how I hear it.” He cupped his hand to his mouth and leaned towards Sam. “Watch out for flying office furniture.” Sam looked surprised and Eric burst into laughter.

“Don’t listen to him, Sam,” I snipped. “Eric often gets confused. Half the time he doesn’t know whether he should be checking his ass or scratching his watch.” I gave Eric an over-the-top dirty look.

Sam guffawed. “You’re in for it now, Northman. Once she lets her southern out, there’s no saving you.” 

I smiled sweetly at Eric who pretended to duck and cover when I grabbed the empty beer from the table in front of him. I took the empty beer bottles into the kitchen, still chuckling and left them in the sink for rinsing later. I finally felt like I had moved on from the mess that was my life back in Shreveport. I could finally laugh now about that awful incident at work. Progress!

“Is Mel still comin’ over?” I called out to Sam, grabbing another round of beer for us. It was some German brand Eric had picked up in Chester earlier in the week. They were tasty. 

I heard movement and a muffled reply from Sam in the living room and I took in the kitchen with a sigh. It was an Eric-level disaster zone. He cooked like a twister, leaving massive destruction in his wake. I set the beers down and stacked some items into the dishwasher then wiped down the counter and splashback around the stovetop where the chili had bubbled over. 

The notification light on my phone blinked at me, catching my eye. 

“Oh, shoot…” I muttered, picking it up. I’d left it on silent. There were three missed calls from Tara and more from an unknown number, plus a bunch of text messages. 

Tara: Pick up! Big breakthrough. 

And a few minutes later…

Tara: Check your voicemail. Call me ASAP. 

I logged into my voicemail. 

“You have two new messages,” the automated voice stated. “Message recorded at four fifty-eight pm. ‘Holy shit, Sookie. I just talked to Tray Dawson. He knew exactly what car I was talking about. Apparently there’s only one model of car that has exposed paint on the underside of the trunk door. He remembers working on it! The Camaro. Specifically the ’75 Camaro. And who do we know that used to drive a silver ’75 Camaro…?’” 

I gasped. The message went on, Tara talking about not being able to wait for the agents. Going out to look into it more before heading home. I looked up as Sam sauntered into the kitchen with an easy grin on his face, he held a stack of the dinner bowls and plates in his hands. 

I tried to swallow down the thick brick of fear that had formed in my throat.

Dawn Green. Dawn Green drove a silver ’75 Camaro. That car was her true love… along with Sam Merlotte.

“Need some help in here?” Sam asked cheerfully, placing the dishes in the sink.


	33. Desperate Things

“Nope, all good.” I smiled brightly back at Sam, my stomach turning over. “Just checking my voicemail.” 

I turned the volume down as the next message played on. I nervously began wiping the counter again. Sam eyed me curiously and started rinsing the dishes. 

“’Hi Sookie. It’s J.B. Have you heard from Tara? She was meant to be home hours ago and no one at the station has heard anything. Gimme a call back.’ End of message. To erase the message press …” I pulled the phone from my ear, hastily pressing 88 to return the call as Sam stepped to my side. 

“Everything okay, Sook?” he asked calmly. He took the phone from my hand and set it on the counter. I backed away a step. 

“It’s fine, Sam, really,” I said, picking up the beers again. My heart started thudding and I stepped further away from him still, back towards the living area. “Let’s play another round! Make the most of Eric’s big night.” 

“Not sure if Eric’s really in the mood to play anymore.” Sam moved closer to me, tucking some strands of loose hair behind my ear. “He’s feeling a bit sleepy.” 

“What do you mean?” I brushed past him into the living room, where Eric was slumped in a heap on the floor. I cried out and crouched to his side. Eric shifted and mumbled something, his eyelids fluttering. “Wake up!” I slapped his cheek and he groaned, brushing me away. 

Sam took my arm gently, tugging me up to my feet again. He tried to stroke my cheek, but I pushed his hand away angrily. 

“What did you do to him?!” 

Sam gave a slight shrug, his demeanor and disposition still calm and collected. “He’s enjoying the best high of his life, probably. He should wake up in a few hours… Or not. Fentanyl can be a bit of a dice roll. Especially considering I grabbed the largest vial I could find from Mel’s office.” He chuckled. “Benefits of having a veterinarian for a wife!”

“What…” I gasped, clapping a hand over my mouth. I moved again to tend to Eric but Sam tightened his grasp of my arm, not letting me go. 

“Don’t cry, Sookie,” he said. “It’s better like this, anyway. This way he won’t interrupt us.” He moved so close I could feel his breath on my face, see the pattern of freckles scattered across his nose. I cringed away from him. “I’ve always had a bit of a thing for you.” His free hand grasped my breast painfully and I choked out a cry. “But we were too close. Too connected. Even drunk Bud would’ve asked too many questions of me if you up and disappeared back then.”

“No, Sam. Don’t do this. Please…” I whimpered, pulling his hand away from me. 

“I’ll be gentle, cher.” He brought his mouth close to my ear. “At least to start with.” 

Horror and adrenaline hit me like a lightning strike. I pushed him away with a cry and all my strength, scrambling past him toward the front door. I pulled a dining chair out behind me to trip him up and the coat rack next, my hands fumbling over the latch on the door. I stumbled outside in only my socks, Bonnie barking from somewhere inside. 

“Bonnie!” I gasped, spinning on the spot just in time to see Sam launch himself at me. He collided with me hard, pinning me to the ground. Then he laughed. A wild and unnatural laugh. So unlike his usual carefree chuckle.

“Nuh-uh-uh…” he crooned. “Tonight you’re going home with me, cher.” 

“No!” I cried, before letting out a blood-curdling scream. I took aim and kicked him square between the legs. There were hardly any neighbors all the way out here, but I’d damned well try my best to make sure they heard me. Sam groaned and pulled himself up, slapping me hard across the face. 

“Enough!” He grabbed me hard by the throat. “You’re coming with me. Don’t make me sedate you too.” 

“Eurynomos,” I sobbed. “Eurynomos! Please…” I twisted under Sam’s hand, scanning the dark trees. But all I could see were stars in the sky. The stars clouding my vision. The dark shapes of trees. No great demon-beast here to save me. I let out a strangled cry. What point was there? He’d be more interested if I were a dead body, rather than now… with impending death looming.

Sam dragged me to his car, pulling me roughly into the cab and snarled angrily when I tried to twist out of his grasp. His face, the one that was always so charming and sweet was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. The façade was gone. His eyes and features were emotionless, full of cold concentration. 

“Where’s Tara?” I rasped in the final moment before duct tape was placed over my mouth. 

“You’ll soon see.” He zip-tied my hands behind me back and buckled me in.

He’d sat me up in the front seat of his work truck and he hopped in beside me, starting the engine calmly. Like it was any old day. Like he was giving me a ride to the store. 

When we got to the top of my driveway, he turned right heading further into the woods, rather than left towards Douglas. I twisted in my seat, watching the red taillights illuminate the rapidly disappearing familiar landscape. I slumped against the window, shying away from his hand as he gave my thigh a friendly squeeze. 

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, cher,” he said. “Tonight will be fun. You’re gonna help me.” He turned on the stereo, tuning the channel to some local station. Ed Sheeran began crooning through the speakers. It sounded so normal and safe. A small sob managed to escape, muffled through the duct tape. 

We drove further through the hills on Little Bank Road and turned off to the right into an almost unseen road. One of the old fire trails, I realized. It was crowded with pines, the road barely graveled and still patchy with snow. The road wound through the forest in the national park, coming around towards the eastern part of the lake. He parked the car behind a large stand of trees and dragged me out from my seat. 

“We walk now,” he said, pointing out into the dark. “Not far. There’s someone waiting for you.”

Sam towed me along by the elbow, my socked feet slipping over the snow. He led us confidently onward into the night. I was barely able to take stock of my surroundings before he began whistling the same tune from the car. I stared blindly into darkness; my brain, heart, and mind hardly able to reconcile what the actual fuck had happened in the space of the last twenty minutes. God. Was Eric dead? I squeezed away the tears through my eyes, wiping them against my shoulder, trying to calm myself, calm my breathing. It was hard practically jogging next to Sam with my mouth taped shut. 

“Whatcha so worried for, Sook?” Sam asked. “Keep breathing like that and you’ll pass out.” 

I snarled at him as best I could. Not like I could speak, but I’d make damned sure he knew that I was not going to go down without an almighty fight. 

“C’mon, cher. Not like you haven’t been here before.” 

I stumbled a little at his words. The chill creeping through my aching toes swept higher with a sudden rush. He was right. I knew where we were. I knew where this lakeside path led. I knew exactly where we were going. This was where I was sleeping walking to the previous night.

The lifeguard hut. 

That room… That basement… My dreams with Sarah and Jade. It was all in the basement workshop of the hut. How had I not recognized it? How had I not realized? A fresh round of tears sprung and my breathing became truly ragged. I’d probably only been down to the workshop all of once maybe, some fifteen years ago. But still… I should’ve recognized that mildewed smell! Recognized the tools and the items strewn around. I should have remembered harder! Tried harder. 

Sam chuckled grimly at my realization and by the time we reached the wooden structure set inside the tree line, just past the rocky beach of the lake, his fingers were clasping me with a bruising ferocity. 

The hut was long abandoned now, thanks to the new lifeguard station built nearby some years earlier but somehow this old one was still locked. Sam retrieved a key from his pocket, unlocking the thick chain that held the double doors shut. He pushed me inside the hut into the dark and then down the creaky wooden steps to the basement area. A small lantern was lit in the corner, the glow of its pale blue LEDs washing out the room. Tara was slumped in the corner, unconscious. Sam pushed me to the ground and I scrabbled across on my knee to Tara, immediately pressing my ear to her chest. I wept with relief at the steady thump of her heart. Tara mumbled, shifting under me. 

Sam grabbed the back of my hair, hauling my back and tore off the tape. 

“I’ve never done this in the middle of winter,” he said, with a chilling grin. His eyes shone in the pale light, the shadows across his face menacing. He pressed a rough kiss to my lips and I twisted my face away from him. He chuckled. “You wait here, gorgeous. I’ve got some things to organize… then it’s play time.” He stroked my chin, eyes still trained on my mouth. I squeezed my eyes shut again, suppressing the moan that threatened to rise unbidden.

His booted footsteps marked his departure up the stairs and across the floor above it. I wanted to vomit. I was literally living my nightmare. I twisted around to face Tara. 

“Tara!” I whispered into her ear, nudging her stomach with a knee. “Wake up! Tara… Please wake up!” 

She mumbled my name and blinked blearily at me before her eyes rolled back into her head. 

“Jesus… Jesus… Jesus…” Had she been drugged too? A trickle of blood ran from her forehead, her eye swollen shut. Maybe concussed?

I shuffled across the room on my knees, damp seeping into my jeans, my nose curling from the stale, mildewed scent. The same old floral couch was still in its place across from me, though I could barely see it across the room. The lantern light was pitiful. I shuffled to the lantern, and panting, I looked around. I needed to find a way out of here. I tried to remember where everything was from my dream. The bench across the wall that had once displayed the tools, the cabinets, the bike in the corner. I crouched down, grabbing the handle of the lantern with my teeth and lifted it. I had no use of my hands, but I could be resourceful. I leaned against the wall beside the settee and slowly propped myself back up to my feet. I walked along the old wooden bench. Empty. I lifted my head, illuminating the wall behind it. Empty, save the sharpied outline that once denoted which tool went where. 

Shit. 

I swiveled back around and shuffled over to the couch. A dark lump lay there. Maybe Sam left a bag of things? Something I could use to break my bindings? I drew close, peering down at the lump. I let out a bloodcurdling scream; the lantern dropped from my mouth. 

The dark lump took shape under the falling light and the lantern thudded onto the couch. Slim shoulders, long pale arms, legs curled under. Blood. Blood everywhere. Dark like the burgundy roses Gran used to grow along the porch back home. Thick and coating the cushions in an enormous dark stain. My eyes traveled higher up the woman’s body; I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. I had to see who it was. I moaned, the sound protracted, unnaturally deep. She was decapitated, her head sitting up at an impossible angle inches away from her body, long ginger hair spread around her. Mel. 

I turned and the contents of my stomach promptly evacuated themselves across the cement floor. It was the beer and dinner Eric had made; it burned coming up. I heaved a few more times, sobbing as I did. Hot unwanted tears seeped from my eyes. Did I really just see what I just saw? My God, I couldn’t bear to turn and check again. But I couldn’t deny it, oh no. Not even my imagination was twisted enough to visualize that image in as much graphic detail as I had just seen it. The serrated edges of flesh, the blood and bone, the slack of her jaw. Her glassy eyes.

I shuffled away, leaving the mess on the ground and the blood coated lantern on the couch. I couldn’t bear to take the lantern, not coated in blood. The girls… All of them… was this their fate? Was this Tara’s? …Mine? 

Poor Mel. I hardly knew her but she seemed sweet, young. 

Young. Like the girls. She looked so young. So much younger than her age. 

I wanted to vomit all over again. Was that why Sam found her so attractive? Was that why he killed all the girls? A fucked up psychopath with an awful perversion. A sick, sad predator who tortured and murdered young girls in a manner most horrible. Oh my god. What had he done to them before they died?! I shuffled back to Tara and buried my face into her chest, between the folds of her coat. 

I began crying, soft pathetic whimpers. The horror poured out of me. Their pitiably short lives, truncated by an awful, awful end. It wasn't fair. How could one person be so cruel? How could God allow this to happen? The steady, relaxed thumping of Tara’s heartbeat continued on, like a backing track to my cries. It served to ground me. The tears eased off and I drew a long shaky breath in and out. Then another. And another. 

It wouldn’t have to end like this for Tara and me. Nothing was set in stone. There was still a chance I wouldn’t have to die. We wouldn’t have to die. Tara promised this community to solve this. To find the perpetrator. And she had found him. I took another deep breath. I guess it was up to me to help her see her promise to fruition. 

I lifted my head slowly and quietly took in the room. I tried to remember how it was in my dream. This was different. A lot different. The room was essentially empty now. The tools removed from their hooks above the workshop table, the couch even more dilapidated than it had been then. There was still the dark shadowy corner beside the supply cupboard, where I’d come upon Dream Sarah’s bike, but that looked empty now… 

I heard the heavy thunk of footsteps above and my fear ratcheted anew. I left Tara and quietly crept across the floor to the dark corner. The air was frigid, my breath releasing in clouds of white mist, and with every step I heard from above, the cold vice of inevitability seemed to close tighter, squeezing me, whispering to me… _You are going to die. This is how you die._ I could taste the truth of it on my tongue. Bitter as bile. It forced the surreal away, landing me squarely in reality. This wasn’t a dream. This was awful, dreadful, hyper-color real life. 

I practically lunged for the corner when I reached it, sobbing in relief and disappointment. Relief as Sam’s footsteps preceded a loud thunk of the hut’s door shutting behind him, he must’ve been going outside to get the whatever he needed ready. Disappointment that the bicycle was no longer there. It had only existed there in my dream.

“Fuck!” I shuffled further into the dark nook. Maybe I could find something. Anything that could help me. I bumped into something cool and metallic. I palmed it as best I could from behind with my zip-tied hands. Long hard tubing with smooth ridges, a gnarled lump. It was piping. Too dark to see. Maybe copper. My fingers traveled higher. There. Just there. Exposed thread from where a bolt had once been screwed. It was rough. Rough enough to wear against my plastic restraints. I worked furiously, rubbing and twisting my hands. The plastic was heating, I could smell the friction of it against the metal it was working against. The edge thinned. I pulled. No dice. I worked harder. 

“C’mon… c’mon, c’mon,” I whispered. “Shit.” My arms cramped, the plastic rubbing into the tender flesh inside my wrists, leaving them raw. 

There was no more movement from above. There was still time to find something else to tear my restraints. 

I crept back to Tara. She remained unconscious, and now her eyelids were no longer fluttering. Her breathing was shallow but steady. I patted her down. She had nothing on her. I took stock of the room again, trying to avoid the remains festering on the couch. Something glinted in the dim light there, though. In Mel’s hair. A clip. 

I can only think it was pure survival instincts that led me to drag myself back to the couch. Back to the grisly remains of what was once a vibrant, young woman. With my back to her and with trembling hands, I removed the silver clip from Mel’s blood-matted hair. I dropped it to the ground and picked it up with my teeth. The clip was free of blood, thank the Lord, and was the utilitarian kind, rather than pretty and delicate. The sort of clip hairdressers used to pin portions of their client’s hair out of the way; the sort of clip a busy, career-focused veterinarian used to keep her mop of red tresses out of the way while she performed surgery. The clip with pronged, the top side smooth, the bottom serrated. I sat down and worked the serrated edge against the tie until it eventually gave and snapped. How much time had passed? Minutes, maybe? Less? I leaped to my feet, crossing the room to gather Tara from the floor into my arms. 

“Tara, you gotta wake up.” I patted her cheek gently. She murmured, her cheek falling gently against her shoulder. Fuck. I’d bet Eric was currently in a similar state. Maybe worse. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I left her and crossed the room and up the steps to gently try the door. It wouldn’t pay to make too much noise. To give away I’d escaped my bindings. 

The handle hand no lock. The door from the inside no visible locking mechanism. But I knew, I just knew that there was a rusted garden gate bolt on the other side holding it shut. I couldn’t recognize the room worth a damn in my dreams, but this obscure fact still somehow resided from all those years ago. The door wouldn’t budge. I pushed against it, the wood creaking. 

I pressed my shoulder against the central panel of the door, where the wood was thinnest. The top layer of timber splintered under my pressure, dry and brittle. Years of damp from being so close to the lake and then the whole hut abandoned; everything was falling the bits. This wooden door was rotting, even the doors Sam opened to let us in through upstairs. I leaned against the door; I could bust through it, I just needed enough--

I heard the stomp of feet above and I leaped back, bumping hard down a few of the stairs and scrambling the rest of the way down until I reached Tara. Dammit. Dammit! I panted, hardly able to hear over the gasp of my own breath, over the rush adrenalin pounding through me, poised and waiting for his steps to continue toward the top of the stairs and the door to open. My head darted back and forth assessing the room, keeping my eye on the stairs. I needed to gain some sort of advantage before he came down. I didn’t fancy my chances of survival, but I was never one to sit around on my hands.

I felt Tara behind me. She was still unconscious, thankfully breathing. I patted her up and. Her pockets felt empty; no sign of a shoulder holster under her burly department issue coat, either. Dammit. I got back to my feet and went through the same motions as I had in some of my dreams… I scanned the floors, the corners of the room… the workshop table. There was nothing.

The footsteps began again, my heart jolting into my throat. No! I needed another minute! It was too late. I heard the latch come undone and in a split second decision, I dived for the floor, grabbing the snapped zip-tie from where it lay. It was the only bit of anything I could find in this damned room. The door squeaked open and I dived back to Tara, back where Sam had originally left me. 

He was smiling as he descended step by creaky step. I kept my hands firmly clasped behind my back, as if still restrained, and I forced myself to meet his gaze. His feet reached the basement floor with an awful, final stomp. 

“Ready?” he asked. 

Not even close. 

But ready as I’d ever be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for any errors in this chapter. I have to post and run. I'm on vacation in the middle of the forest ( thankfully, no crazy demons of death, but also sadly no reception) so I had to drive for ages to find coverage. I'll get the next chapter up in a few days.


	34. Fit to Burst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the big climax. It's intense! One chapter after this. Thank you so much for all your support <3 I've done such crazy things with this story and you've all been so supportive and on board with it.

I looped the plastic zip-tie between my fingers, holding it firmly against my wrist, then pressed my wrist firmly against my back. It needed to look like I was still restrained. It wasn’t perfect. If Sam looked hard enough he’d notice it wasn’t tight like before, that it wasn’t digging into my skin, marking the flesh.

“So is this where you did it? Do it?” I asked him… Trying to stall whatever it was he wanted me to be ready for.

“Her?” He gestured casually with his shoulder to Mel’s body. “Didn’t kill her here… But her head?” He clenched his fist and ran his thumb slowly across his throat. “Oh, yes. That happened here.” 

My blood ran cold. “And… me?” 

He tutted and closed the space between us until we were inches apart, nose to nose. He stroked my cheek with the back his thumb, the same thumb he’d just used to mimic his own wife’s decapitation. 

“You, cher? You are… something different.” 

I flinched. “What do you mean?” I asked, my voice barely louder than a rasp. 

“Even back then there was always something between us, wouldn’t you say? Then after all those years, you come back. Back to the cabin. Back to the lake. It’s like… What’s the word? It’s not fate it’s...” 

“Kismet,” I finished. 

He nodded, smile lifting higher. “You found those girls. You walked out into the forest and just found them. Is there any bigger sign than that?” His gaze turned steely, the pupils blown as he stared me down with cavernous intensity.

“It’s not like that,” I insisted with a shake of my head. Fear curled its roots into my chest, hollow and icy. 

“I know you feel it out there. Something more,” he said, his smile dropping away. “You said so yourself. The presence in the woods. The feeling of being watched. We’re part of something. Something big. Bigger than us.” He gripped the back of my neck with his hand. “This is what’s meant to be.” 

“Have you seen something out there?” My God… What if Eurynomos was on his side? Happy for the victims Sam provided?

He chuckled. “No sasquatch, that’s for sure.” 

“So then you’ve seen… it?” I breathed. 

He frowned, looking as though he might question what I meant exactly, but Tara let out a low moan from behind us, distracting the conversation. “Come on,” he said, pushing me toward the stairs. “It’s time to go.” 

I marched one step at a time behind him, risking one last glance over my shoulder to Tara, who was remained unconscious on the mildewed floor. Sam slammed the basement door closed once he dragged me over the threshold then pulled me across the wooden floors of the hut, his flashlight leading us to beaten double doors. 

“What are you doing?” I asked. He’d set down the flashlight and picked up a rusty old jerry can. I took a wide step away.

“Dealing with Tara.” He uncapped the lid and swung the can around, long streams of gasoline landing with a splash across the floor. 

“Stop!” I cried. 

To my surprise, he stopped. “What. Why? Oh…” He smiled knowingly. “You think I should…?” He nodded to where a crowbar and bloodied hunting knife lay on the floor. “I wasn’t planning on it, she’s not really my type. Not worth the hassle.” 

Horror yawned inside of me and my hands itched to behind my back, itched to reach out and grab him, tackle him to the floor. But he was wiry and surprisingly strong. I wasn’t sure of my chances. Not when I’d seen with my own eyes what those hands of his were capable of.

“They’ll know it’s you,” I finished lamely. 

He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “They already know. That’s why Tara is down there.” He splashed more gasoline.

“The FBI doesn’t know.” 

This gave him pause, his hand holding the can in mid-air, hovering; so I hurried to explain. “The feds are back at the city office. Sorting out paperwork, handling the forensic side of things now that evidence has been collected. Tara worked out it was you today. She decided to work the case solo while the feds are gone, but under the radar – it’s not even her case to investigate anymore. She wouldn’t have told them anything yet.” 

“Makes no fucking difference. She worked it out. She needs to be dealt with.” 

“Like Mel?” 

“Mel was clueless,” he said, the corners of his lips turning down in disgust. “Naïve and clueless. And she wanted fucking kids. Kids.” He spat the word. “She was no good to me anymore. Used up.” 

It took a moment... His words. They took a moment to sink in. A long, stretched out second where my mind tripped and stalled and I suddenly caught up with his sick reasoning. Mel was so young in comparison to Sam – mid to late 20s compared to his mid-40s – and she looked young too, her sweet heart-shaped face, her wide round eyes. All the victims were young and pretty. Was that all his attraction was based on? I wanted to hurl. Was Mel only good for as long as she was young and appeared innocent? 

My horror and revulsion must’ve reflected on my features and Sam snarled in response, grabbing me roughly by the back of my neck. 

“Time to go.” 

He gathered his macabre belongings, pouring a trail of gasoline behind us and pushed me outside and down to the shore of the lake. The cold waters met my frozen feet in icy greeting. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe deeply. The shore lapped all around us, the sound appallingly calm and normal against the nightmare I was living. 

I tried to calm myself against the sounds of the lap, lap, lapping and the brush of water against the pebbles. I opened my eyes with a soft gasp. This was what the girls in my dream were begging me to listen for. It was this. If only I’d heard it and understood. 

Sam retrieved a zippo from his pocket, pulling me from my despaired thoughts, and flicked the lid open. He held it out to me. 

“Want to do the honors?” 

“You’re fucking sick,” I spat at him. He shrugged and without warning flicked the flint wheel. I screamed, a high-pitched cry I barely recognized as my own voice, and launched myself at him. We collided and I latched my hands over his wrist, snuffing out any flame that may have ignited. Sam stumbled back with a grunt and the both of us fell to the ground, water splashing at our heels, pebbles and rocks digging in from every which direction. 

“Don’t be fucking foolish, Sookie!” Sam yelled, grabbing my arms trying to pin me down, but I flailed, kicking my legs, twisting as hard as I could.

I wrenched the zippo free with a cry and launched it - a wide arcing over-arm throw that sent the lighter straight into the black water. It hit with a splash and disappeared. Sam wrenched me up by a large handful of hair, pain ripping through my scalp.

“Bad move…” he snarled. He hauled himself to his feet, still fisting my hair and dragged me along the shore behind him. I screamed, kicking and scuffing my feet uselessly, throwing fistfuls of pebbles at him, trying to twist and wrench myself away. It was useless. 

“Stop it!” he roared and pulled me with a hard tug like I were an errant dog on a lead. My hair pulled from my scalp in sections, the pain white hot and blinding.

I gave up trying to grab for purchase on the loose icy pebbles and instead reached behind me. I hooked my hands over his calf and pulled with all my might. I cried out in triumph as Sam tumbled forward onto his hands and knees. His grip of my hair weakened and I wrenched myself free of him, leaping to my feet and running – running as fast as I could away from him and closer to the tree line, leaping over the craggly rocks and patches of snow that dotted along the edge the lake. 

My feet caught in the roots of a tall pine, and I stumbled over myself but somehow staying upright. Finally, and for once, gravity was on my side. I propelled myself into the black of the forest. I ran behind a big pine, trying to slow my gasps, peering around to the lake shore, searching through the trees for Sam. And there was…

Nothing. He was gone. 

My heart pounded, an erratic drum beating through my chest and I twisted wildly in place trying to make out his figure amongst the black of the looming pines around me. 

Where was he? The dark shapes of the pines stood out starkly as my eyes adjusted.

Where had he gone?! 

_This is your chance,_ a tiny voice whispered. _Run._

I stepped away from the tree, toward the northern side of the lake, toward mine and Eric’s cabins. It was a couple miles from here. The distant yellow lights from the dwellings on that side of the lake glowed invitingly. I could run for it. I could make it. Save Eric. Save myself. 

I took a step forward but hesitated. Tara was still in that cold, dank basement. She was alive. Maybe only barely... but could I really leave her? I grasped the rough bark of the tree. It wasn’t a decision. How could it be? I couldn’t let my best and longest friend perish the way that Mel had… The way all those girls had… 

I took one last look at the distant cabins, a wild sort of panic building. Was I cursing another loved one to die by rescuing Tara? I stifled a ragged cry at the thought. Oh, Eric. Before the thought could crash down on me, turning me to a crying heap, I began to move. Quietly, quickly. Back toward the lifeguard hut.

I darted between trees, aiming for the patches of snow that appeared softest, my damp socks absorbing the sounds. I was edging closer to the shore, closer to that rotten structure. I paused behind a wide pine, it was old, its needles sparse and scratchy. I peered slowly around and saw nothing. 

_Crack._

I jumped like a startled cat and spun toward the source of the noise. Something deep within the woods. I could see nothing. A startled animal, maybe. I turned back to continue my path but screamed. 

Sam stood before me, his long hunting knife in one hand. The whites of his eyes were somehow brighter than the snow, his chest rose and fell raggedly. 

“Got you.” 

I turned and bolted, running faster than I ever thought possible. I fled head first into the woods, arms outstretched. I had no time to make out the shapes. I ran blindly. Flight instinct in action. Every atom, every molecule of my body screamed at me: Go, go, go! 

I ran straight into the dark between trees, zigzagging through the dark, Sam close at my heels, my body on fire with the need to escape. I ducked under a branch but was clipped by another and I tumbled; before I could fall, a tight hand grasped my upper arm and pulled.

Sam wrangled me roughly up against the trunk of the offending tree. I cried and twisted my head away as his face came close, his hot breath sending billowing clouds of condensation into the night air. 

“Don’t make me angry, Sookie.” He pressed the tip of the knife to the base of my neck, to the tender hollow just above my collarbone. He left it there and said no further.

“Or what?” I whispered, not daring to look at him. “You’ll slit my throat?” 

He chuckled darkly. A sounds so unlike the Sam I knew that I found myself turning to see it was actually him that was making the noise. The expression on his face absolutely froze me. He had me. No escape now.

“Why haven’t you already?” I asked, swallowing back my fear. “Why haven’t you killed me? What will you…? What are you going to do to me?” 

“I’ll keep you. You’ll be mine. I’ll make you realize we're fate. This dark road I walk. It’s ours. Don’t you feel it? It’s all around us. In these woods? I know you feel it. I see it in your eyes. You know what it is to touch death. The power it has. How… How fucking _alive_ you feel to hold someone’s life in your hands and take it all away.” 

“No,” I sobbed. Was he talking about Alcide? I briefly flashed to that moment, when Alcide’s final shallow breath passed his cool lips and the monitors stopped bleeping. A part of me felt dead too. “That’s not true. No.” 

“I’ve got a truck waiting. All these years, I’ve had my exit well planned. I’m not blind. I knew there was a chance someone would work it out, especially with Tara as sheriff. Appalachia would do fine, don’t you think?” He traced the knife gently against my skin. “Start afresh in the sticks? There’s a cabin waiting for us… We’ll start a new life. Short as it might be for you.” 

He pressed his lips against me then. He kissed me while he held a knife to my neck, and I had no choice but to let him. His lips were hot, his tongue vile in my mouth, his free hand grasping my waist painfully tight. He pulled away with a triumphant grin like my forced acquiescence was somehow proof that I was party to his sick plans. 

“What’s that smell?” he asked and his head tilted abruptly to the side. 

My heart skipped a beat. I drew a deep breath. A familiar, dank and sweetly fetid scent clung to the air. I let out an incredulous laugh. It burst out from me cold and slightly hysterical. 

“It’s death.” 

“What?” Sam scented the air again, his nose tipping up like a dog. “It’s like… a dead animal, maybe.” 

“It’s not. It’s _Death_.” A crazed smile tugged at my lips.

Comprehension dawned on his features. 

“You’ve seen it?” he said, voice barely above a whisper. I laughed again. I couldn’t help it. It was hardly funny. It was probably the least funny situation I’d ever been in. Sam’s expression changed as he watched me, several emotions playing quickly across his features, like an old-fashioned projector flickering between images. Aggravation. Confusion. Shock… Fear. He finally spoke: “What _are_ you?” 

My eyes traveled past him, over his shoulder. “It’s not me you should be asking.” 

A hiss emerged from the darkness, slicing through the stillness of the now utterly silent woods. Sam’s eyes widened, two stark pools standing out in the night. He turned and stared into the black forest and though I couldn’t see anything, he sure as hell did. 

“No… no… no…” He dragged me away, pulling me with him to the safety of the shore, back toward the hut. I practically ran to keep up with him. The cracks and snaps of branches chased us out, Eurynomos making its dreadful hissing presence known as it drew closer. 

“You can’t run!” I yelled. “It will find you. It found me!” 

“And did what?” Sam twisted to look behind us as he pulled me along. “What does it want?” 

I wrenched my arm free and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him to a stop. 

“You wanna know what it wants?” 

His gaze barely met mine, it darted everywhere behind me into the dark forest. He continued to drag me back step by step, slower this time, as he retreated. The noises emanating from the forest were horrifying: a small tree snapping startlingly loud, the swelling sounds hissing and growling... And the smell. The stench was overpowering, it made my eyes water.

“We’ve gotta go!” Sam yelled, the knife clutched in his hand now forgotten as he tried to push my hands from his collar. 

I grabbed him by the neck instead and placed my mouth close to his ear. “It wants Dawn’s head…” I hissed. “Then it wants you.” 

Sam let out a low moan and finally pushed me off. He turned and ran, this time not bothering to drag me along. I hurried to keep up. We passed through the trees onto the shore of the lake. 

“Holy fuck!” he screamed as he swung around to finally see it out in the open. I felt the dark presence of Eurynomos behind my back, hovering in the between the trees behind me. “Make it go away!” 

I stepped calmly across the pebbly shore to stand next to Sam. He still held the knife. I knew better than to wrestle it from him. I just needed to convince him somehow to put it down.

“It won’t go. It won’t leave you alone,” I said.

“What the fuck is it?!”

Eurynomos’ great hulking form limped out from between the trees, so dark it was barely visible, so black it was as if it were emanating the night in the same way the sun emanated light. Its fox hood was up, the two points of the fox ears standing tall. 

It hissed. 

“Where’s Dawn, Sam?” I asked, as if translating. I had no idea if it wanted Dawn’s head. For all I knew it was here because of Mel’s death. I just needed to keep Sam distracted. Afraid. 

“You understand it?” he cried. I fought back the urge to laugh. Of course I didn’t. “What the fuck are you? Some demon?” 

I did laugh then, this time because his question was directed at me, not at the actual literal demon standing ten feet away from us. 

My hysterical response was cut off as he grabbed me once more, pulling me tight in front of him, the knife back to my neck. I froze, my breath hitching. He held me like a hostage, the flat edge of the knife pressed tightly against my flesh. 

“Get back!” Sam yelled at Eurynomos. It stood unblinking, its dark soulless eyes watching us. I stared at it pleadingly. All the while I could practically feel the throb of my jugular against the lip of the serrated blade. 

The smell was so powerful now, I was forced to breathe through my mouth, and Sam gagged. The breeze suddenly picked up, just like that day I’d followed Eurynomos through the woods. The white snowy mist swirling and gathering around our ankles, blowing the hair over my shoulders. “Get back or I’ll kill her!”

The demon just stood there. Waiting. It felt like it was looking right at me. Right through me. Inside me. And in that instant, I understood exactly the feeling Sam was talking about. The dragging, awful current of death. Its pull like the undertow of a deep, dark river. It dragged me. It carried me. I was helpless.

Something rose within me, something bigger than me, ballooning from within; and I moaned, a noise so unlike my usual tenor. The sound I made was not of my own volition. It didn’t sound like me. It sounded like my voice… and voices of many others. An abomination of sound. The cadence off, disjointed. Louder than humanly possible without screaming. The voices of many girls. All of the girls. 

The noise crowded my hearing, it hurt my ears. The rising feeling continued, it was like I was expanding within myself, like my chest would burst, like my brain would explode. There was so much inside me all at once. I had to let it out. I was going to burst.

“I’ll fucking kill her!” Sam screamed as I wailed. But he didn’t press the knife any tighter to my neck. The terror was evident in his voice. I knew. We knew. He was too afraid to kill me. To kill us.

“You cannot kill me,” my awful discordant multi-voice said. I spoke the words simultaneously of my own will and yet without consciously choosing to. “She is the conduit between life and death.” 

Sam screamed and I did too, grabbing him by the arm, forcing his hand away from my neck and, seizing my advantage, I pushed him to the ground, trying to prize the knife away. He dropped like a bowling pin, staring at me wide eyed – I had no idea what he saw as he looked up at me. It took a moment before he began properly resisting, knocking my grip away.

“Surrender, Sam Merlotte!” I demanded. “ _Fiat justitia ruat cælum. Fiat justitia ruat cælum._ ” 

The words escaping my mouth I had no control over but my movements were, at least, my own. I wrestled with all my adrenaline-fueled strength. I was so very wary of the knife in his hand, sharp and terrifying, but I fought aggressively, scratching and punching, screaming in my ungodly voice. 

The thick fury I felt washed away the horror of my circumstances, of the entire night, away and I was solely focused on disarming Sam. Destroying Sam. And then I heard it. A sound so unexpected and welcoming it snapped me away from my wild thrashing with a sucking gasp. 

The sound bounded off the crisp waters of the lake: a pure, resounding bark.

“Bonnie!” I wasn’t sure if I yelled her name or just thought it and, operating on pure instinct, I brought my fingers to my lips and finger whistled… shrill and long and ear-splittingly loud. Sam roared and I felt a sudden startling pain in my side. 

I scrambled away, disentangling myself and leaping to my feet. Sam followed, hair disheveled, head bowed low in anger. The shoulder of his ranger jacket was torn, white stuffing producing from the tear. He looked like a demented teddy bear.

I retreated a few steps, pawing at the handle of the blade protruding from my abdomen. The world spun, the wind swirling and wailing through the trees. Death seemed likely now. My fingers came away from the wound coated in blood, but I brought them back to my lips and whistled again. 

“Stop that,” Sam yelled. Bonnie barked again, this time closer, and I saw something through the trees further ahead. I couldn’t be sure what it was... Bobbing lights?

Eurynomos hissed and Sam jumped, as if he’d forgotten that our demon watcher had been there the whole time. But Sam was ballsy, stepping confidently closer to me. As did Eurynomos, long beads of sickly saliva dripping from its twisted lips, eager to see how this would play out. Ready to snatch my body, maybe?

“You’re in no position to be making threats, Sam Merlotte,” I said, moving back another one, two steps when I finished whistling. 

“Neither are you, Sookie,” Sam warned. “You’ll bleed out before anyone gets here.”

I made a sound, almost between a resigned laugh and a sigh. _Fiat justitia ruat cælum._ Justice must be realized regardless of the consequences. It was up to me. Consequences be damned. It wasn’t fair. What had Jade said? Life wasn’t fair – why should death be?

The bursting sensation within me grew. Bigger, wider… Deeper. 

I let out a grating, unnatural cry and wrenched the blade from my side. It released from my stomach with a sick, sucking tear just as Sam launched himself at me. I plunged the blade into his neck, the sound of Bonnie’s unerring barking and my own screams, filling my ears. They were full, so full, bursting, the noise distorted and twisted in my head. He cried out and staggered backward, the shock blowing his eyes wide with terror. The knife remained in my hand. 

A sudden reverberating bang cut off the mayhem abruptly. 

Sam stumbled forward, blood spilling from his chest and from his neck. Hot and wet and thick, pulsating like a geyser. I cried out in horror and pushed him away. 

He collapsed backward onto the ground, his hand clasping his neck, another at his chest. Blood spilled profusely. It was everywhere. Oh my god, so much blood. It puddled and pooled, spilled from between his fingers. Eurynomos’s hiss turned into a roar. 

“What the fuck is that!?” screamed a voice. I looked up in shock to see Kenya, gun raised and pointed at Eurynomos. She fired off three rounds quickly. Bang, bang, bang. These bangs sounded different to the first one. I didn’t see if her shots hit Eurynomos, though his roar continued. 

My vision swirled, fading in and out of focus. A tall figure ran to me. 

“Sookie!”

“Eric…?” 

I heard something clatter to the ground. I looked down to see my Benelli. Bonnie circled my legs. 

“What’s going on?” I asked weakly. I tightly held the wound at my side, blood was seeping through between my own fingers but not at the speed Sam’s was. Or had been. Sam’s eyes now stared vacantly at the night sky. A large dark patch continued to seep at his sternum though his chest no longer rose and fell.

Eric caught me around the shoulders, holding me upright. 

“Good thing you taught me to shoot,” Eric said and I leaned against him. It took a moment for the fog to clear and his words to make sense. A moment for the gaping wound in Sam’s chest to make sense. I grasped Eric’s shirt, sure I’d never let go again.

“I thought you were dead,” I choked out. 

“Narcan. Kenya found me… Tara makes them keep Narcan doses in their squad cars for overdose victims,” Eric replied. “Shit – your stomach.” 

“What the fuck is that!” Kenya screamed again, cutting Eric off. “Am I the only one seeing this shit?!” The gun trembled in her hand, still pointed to Eurynomos. “That fucking Thing has Sam!” 

Eurynomos hissed at Kenya, and then turned and hissed at me. Sam dangled limply from it’s monstrous, slender claws, blood dripping into the snow below. 

“Don’t shoot him!” I cried. 

“You think I haven’t tried?! It doesn’t do shit!” she screeched. “Get the fuck away from me monster!” she yelled at it and shot again.

Kenya scrambled back as Eurynomos moved between the three of us. And we looked on, me with relative relief and Eric and Kenya with a mixture of terror and disbelief, as my nightmarish stalker dragged itself up the shore and disappeared into the dark of the forest, taking Sam with it. 

Eric helped me to the ground, instructing Kenya, who was staring dumbstruck at the thatch of pines the demon had disappeared into, to call an ambulance. Bonnie licked my hand and I felt her warmth at my leg. I looped my fingers through her scraggly coat.

“Tara!” I cried, remembering with a painful jolt. Her name was enough to jolt Kenya out of her shock-induced stupor too. “She’s in the basement of the old lifeguard shack,” I told her. “Sam dosed her with Fentanyl too.”

“I’ve got more Narcan - another dose in case Eric needed it.” She took off toward the shack, phone to her ear, her laden duty belt bouncing stridently in time with her jog. “I don’t know how the fuck I’m meant to explain this!” she yelled.

I leaned my head back against the comfort of Eric’s arm. The pressure of his hand on the stab wound swallowed most of the pain. His expression was grim. 

“Mel is down there,” I rasped. “He killed her…” I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to will away the image of Mel’s lifeless head from my brain. 

“Hush, it’s okay now. It’s over,” he said softly, words slightly slurred. “But you need to stay awake.” I stared up at him, his eyes were glazed, red-rimmed. I realized then that the suffocating, choking, bursting feeling inside of me was gone. But I was in pain, probably dying, 

“Don’t leave me,” I croaked. I squeezed his hand so hard he winced. “Please. You’re not allowed to leave me.” 

“Yes ma’am,” he said, and the warmth in his voice filled the space left within me.


	35. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better late than never (sorry). It's easily the biggest chapter of the whole story, at least.

“Are you ready?” Tara asked, her hand firmly clasped in mine. I swore under my breath, trying to calm the rapid pacing of my heart.

“I’m scared,” I said. 

She threw her head back and laughed at that. The sunshine caught on the silver chain around her neck causing it to glint. “Don’t give me that crap! You’ve survived worse.”

I nodded tersely. And despite my misgivings, we both crouched a little at the knees. It was a practiced stance, one I didn’t really think about or even mean to do. An automatic response left over from the hundreds and hundreds of instances of doing this exact thing back in my youth.

Tara called loudly so everyone could hear: “Three… Two… One!” 

We jumped on one, pushing hard off the granite and flipping backward. Terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure. With a rush, I remembered why I loved doing this: that precise moment where exertion met gravity and I began to free fall straight into nothing; the way the air rushed past my ears, buffeting loudly as a helicopter; those brief moments of pure nothing where the world stopped and it was me who moved instead.

I plunged into the icy depths. In a blink, the bright of the summer sun transformed into the dark, inky waters of Douglas Lake. I turned and swam toward the surface, breaking it with a big splash and a cheer. Tara, to my right, did the same. 

“Heads up!” 

We looked up just in time to see Jason take a running leap and front flip straight off Hawk’s Rock, diving into the water between us. Next was J.B. And then Eric was up. 

“Come on!” I yelled up to him “Don’t be chicken.” 

Even from where I was treading water, twenty-something feet below where Eric stood on the precipice of the rock, I could see his look of apprehension. But then he let out a sudden battle cry and fell forward, hands outstretched, straight as a pin. He sliced straight through the water, nary a splash. 

He came back up and let out a whoop. “That’s a rush!” We looked at each other and shared a grin. “Again?” 

“At your own peril,” I said. “I can’t be bothered hiking around the hill to the top of that rock again.” 

“Damn, man!” Jason said. “I was positive you were gonna belly flop.” 

“What can I say? There’s more to me than just pure muscle and good looks," Eric said and flexed. 

“Do I need to be worried right now?" I said. "Trapped between both of your inflated egos, I’m seriously concerned I might die of suffocation.”

Jason laughed and began swimming away from us toward the moored swimming raft. When he was sure I was looking, he kicked water in my direction. I squealed and ducked away. 

“I’m not 16 and 110 pounds anymore, Stackhouse!” I yelled. “When I dunk you, you’re gonna notice it!” 

“Not if you can’t catch me,” he called back, flipping me the bird.

We all swam after Jason, following him closer to the shore of the lake's main beach and up onto the wooden swimming raft. I flopped onto my back, the wooden boards warm and welcoming against my spine. I closed my eyes. The raft bobbed left to right and I could hear the sounds of locals and holidaymakers on the beach, a mix of cheerful chatter and the squeals of children. 

J.B. let out a sigh of contentment. “All we need is some brews.” 

“Fuck, then we really would be 16 again,” Tara said, slapping the raft for emphasis. 

“Remember that body-board we rigged with the beer cooler?” I said. “We’d draw straws to see whose turn it was to paddle it out here.” 

“Oh my god, and that time Jason drew the short straw and wouldn’t stop singing that stupid, godawful Venga Boys song until someone else caved and dragged it out!” 

“Yes!” I laughed, the memory appearing in my mind as clear as a bell. “I forgot all about that! I think it was Quinn who ended up paddling it out. He was so salty about that too.” 

“Good,” Jason said. “He was a dick.” 

“That’s right,” J.B. chuckled, “Then you just rowed your canoe on out after you made him tow the beer board to the raft. The look on his face!” 

“Was that the time we tried to see how many of people this thing could take before it would begin sinking?” Tara said.

“Oh, yeah. I remember that,” I said. We never managed it. There was about 15 of us teens, a mix of locals and regular vacationers like Jason and me, crammed onto the floating raft, jumping and shouting, trying to push one another off. 

“And I think that was the same day Sam busted us for drinking out here too,” Tara continued. “Took our board.”

“It was,” Jason said. “I tried to break into the lifeguard hut to get it back the next morning… But I couldn’t get in, he had it locked up tighter than Fort Knox.” 

Our laughter petered out, the mood sobering swiftly as throwing water on coals. We lapsed into silence, and I opened my eyes to stare up at the sky. I was 16 again and my worries were both enormous and inconsequential, the way every teenager’s worries were. Who I was crushing on. How best to fill the endless days of summer. Who was partying where. Who said what behind which person’s back. And two hundred yards to my right a very different world was kept under lock and key in the basement of a lifeguard hut. It chilled me, in a deep visceral way, right in my gut.

I felt Eric’s finger trace along the scar at my side and I tilted my head to gaze at him. 

“Don’t get too lost in there,” he said quietly. 

“Where?” I mouthed. 

He tapped his forehead. “In the past.” Even this close to me, his words were barely audible over the sound of the water slapping the underside of the raft. I searched his eyes, which were neither pitying nor patronizing. He propped himself up on one elbow. “I think we need to make another one of those floating coolers.” He turned, addressing the whole group and leaving me to time travel back to the present. “I have a feeling Bill will make sure the lifeguards look the other way.”

“Of course he will,” Tara said with a snort. “He thinks the sun shines out of Sookie’s ass. He’ll do anything if she asks sweetly enough.”

“Hey!” I protested. “I have it on good authority the sun does shine out of my ass, thank you very much.” 

Everyone laughed, smoothly restoring the mood and current decade. 

The fact was, the townsfolk here did seem to think sun shone out my ass, for lack of a better term. Everyone and their dog still stopped me whenever I was in Douglas to thank me for my bravery and to enquire after my health. During my hospital stay in Chester, the nurses needed a list of approved visitors. Partly to stop the locals from coming in all day to check in on me (i.e. pump me for juicy details) but also to stop the media hounding me... It had worked for a while.

And Tara? She was as good as a superhero in these parts. She’d even successfully applied to the county for more funding for the sheriff’s office. Douglas County Sheriff department now boasted a detective part time on staff. 

While everyone chatted, I made the most of the sun, baking myself until I couldn’t stand the heat anymore. I slid off the raft and down into the cool waters of the lake. It was like slipping into a cool welcoming glove. My skin prickled upon contact with the water. 

I paddled on my back like a jellyfish for a while until I heard the steady strokes of Eric moving to catch up with me. I watched as he swam on past me and rescued a floating log from between some rocks and reeds. He paddled it back to me and we slung ourselves over either end of the old log, staying buoyant. 

“Hard to imagine only a few months ago this whole place was covered in snow and basically frozen over,” he said. 

“It’s like another world, isn’t it?” The breeze today was mild and warm, strong enough to texture the lake surface but not strong enough to cause whitecaps. The sun caught on the ripples, dashes of bright white against the deep blue of the lake. It was like swimming through a flat, strangely cut gem. Around the lake, green grasses peeked out from between the trunks of pines; and on the far side of the lake, the tall peak of my cabin roof and flat angle of Eric’s rental next door was visible from above the trees. It was a perfect world here. Idyllic. Life paused on one of the best parts. 

“I’ve been giving thought to what you said…” 

Eric responded simply with a raised brow. 

“And I’m going to go back to Shreveport after the summer and pack up the house there. It’s time to sell.” 

“And then what?” 

I was communicating better these days, better than I had six months ago. I accepted that whatever my future was, it was going to feature Eric. But what exactly that entailed? I didn’t know. 

I rested my chin against the log, paddling my legs idly. “I don’t know… I can’t work pro-bono here forever.” 

“We could try New York…” 

“We could. Or Shreveport.” 

“That too,” he said.

“But if you think this is hot, then the south might kill you.” 

“I’ll just have to be inventive...” He scooted close to me and kissed me. “I’m sure we can find ways to cool me down.” 

I rolled my eyes and wrapped an arm around his neck. I let him kiss me again. “That makes no sense…” I gasped when we parted. “The opposite of sense.” The water around us was going to start steaming if we kept this up.

“I don’t care where we are,” he said. “As long as I’m right… here…” He nuzzled his chin between my breasts and I groaned, pushing him off. 

“You’re like a bloodhound. Don’t be gross.” 

He looked up, eyes wide and fully engaged in puppy-mode. 

“You’re the worst,” I grumbled. I pushed his wet hair off his forehead and he smiled at me. His expression was so… so open and unreserved. My stomach flipped. Life on pause. “I love you so damn much,” I said. 

Eric opened his mouth to speak but our private little interlude was cut off by the sound of a shrill finger whistle. 

“Dadgummit!” I heard Jason say. “I regret ever teaching that woman how to do that.” Crystal stood at the shore from where she’d whistled, waving Jason in. “Daddy duties await!” Jason said crouched on the raft ready to dive in, but I called out to him, telling him I’d go and help Crystal with the kids instead. It was probably time to swim in anyway, we’d left her with the kids so we could climb the rock about a half hour earlier. 

I brushed a kiss on Eric’s cheek and swam toward shore, leaving the group to their afternoon antics. 

“Sorry,” I said, stepping from the water and accepting the towel Crystal handed me. “Got caught up out there reliving the past.” 

“It’s alright. The kids are happy playing.” She nodded over to Billy and Mitchell, who were sitting on the pebbly shore in their swimsuits. They were loading and hauling pebbles in their Tonka trucks. “But there’s someone here to see you.” She leaned close, dropping her voice to a whisper. “I told him to get lost, but he was real insistent.” 

I sighed and nodded. From over her shoulder, a man stood leaning against the trunk of a pine that towered over the carpark path. An older gentleman, his forehead deeply lined and serious; we caught eyes and he simply nodded. I wrapped the towel around my shoulders and walked over to my belongings. I dried off and pulled on my plain cotton kaftan over my bikini. I slipped into my sandals, taking care to avoid looking at my toes and wandered up to meet the man. 

“Can I help you?” 

“Are you Susannah Stackhouse?” Deep and rough, his voice bottomed out when he spoke my name. 

“Depends who’s asking,” I replied and crossed my arms. He neither flinched nor smiled. My next rebuff, ready and waiting at my lips, suddenly faltered and vanished. His was a different response to the usual sickly sweet pandering I got from journalists, or really anyone trying to chase a story from me. 

His hand slipped into his inner coat pocket and retrieved a small business card. Before I realized what was happening, my hand clasped around it. 

“Professor Leonard Keene. My assistant has been attempting to contact you over the course of the last several weeks to no avail.” 

I thumbed the card without glancing at it, opting to hold his gaze, though his eyes were partially obscured by the darkness of his glasses. They were those transition lenses that went darker in the sun. Still, I could tell he was examining me as closely as I was him. 

“Professor of what and where?” 

“Professor of Psychology at Morton Oakes College, Pennsylvania.” 

“Can’t say I’ve heard of it.” 

He finally offered a smile: small, tight and conciliatory. “Most haven’t. We are a modestly sized campus.” 

I finally looked at the card. His details were printed in a neat serif typeface with the college crest taking up a large portion of the card. It was a shield featuring a dove, an eagle, an inkpot and a book in each corner. An odd combination. “Is it one of those for-profit institutes?” 

“In a sense.” 

I wrinkled my nose at his evasiveness. “So why are you looking for me?” 

His eyes shifted to scan over my shoulder and then back to me. “A friend of my colleague brought your story to my attention. I’d like to meet with you to discuss how I think we may be able to help one another. How you may be able to help others.” 

I folded my arms across my chest. It probably looked silly with my wet bikini showing through the fabric, but I lifted my chin, anyway. “It’s not my story. The story belongs to those dead girls. To the dedicated law enforcement who helped resolve and bring closure to all their families. It doesn’t belong to me. I’m not interested in talking. Or in you getting your kicks learning about how sick Sam Merlotte really was.” 

“You know that’s not why I’m here.” 

I was lost, or at least searching for the right words, when Eric’s hand landed upon my shoulder. He squeezed gently. “Is this guy bothering you, Sookie?” His hand was damp with lake water, moisture seeping through into the fabric.

“No, no…” I said distractedly, glancing slowly between the card and the man before me. “He was just leaving.” 

Professor Keene gestured slightly, and I handed the card back over to him. He pulled a pen from the same coat pocket and scrawled something quickly onto the back. 

“Please consider taking a meeting with me. I’ll be in Chester all week staying at the Marriott.”

“She’s not interested in talking to the media,” Eric said, and I could feel him beside me rising up to his full height, shoulders back. Again, the professor didn’t flinch or seem to notice the hostility behind the comment. 

“I am of the opinion, Ms. Stackhouse,” he continued as if Eric hasn’t spoken at all, “that what you experienced was the beginning, rather than a single, extraordinary occurrence. And if what I suspect is true, then you may wish to have people at your side ready and able to guide you in the future.” He handed the card back to me, turned and walked back up the path back toward the carpark. 

“What was that about?” Eric said when the man disappeared around the corner.

“I don’t know, and I’m not sure I want to find out,” I murmured. I turned the card over to inspect the back. Scrawled in black pen read: _The Keene Gott Institute_ and underneath, a web address. 

“Is there anything I can do? Want me to call Tara over?”

“No, no, it’s okay…” I shook my head a little, trying to clear the fog of surprise and confusion.

Eric gently drew me by the shoulders and turned me to face the water again. 

“Look, there are beers in the cooler with our names on it and two boys dying to play with their favorite aunt; so come on, funky toes.” 

“Think you’re real clever, huh?” I elbowed him playfully and wiggled my foot at him. 

“Oh, I know I’m clever,” Eric declared and led us back to the lake. 

It was funny that for all that talk of consequences and freaky Latin prophecies, the only consequence I’d really faced after my showdown with Sam was the amputation of my two littlest toes at the first knuckle and one very lucky scar on my abdomen. The blade missed my liver by millimeters. I stared at the card in my hand as we walked and, for the first time, considered the possibility of other consequences I had yet to fully realize. 

*******

The moment we got back home from the lake, Crystal declared her need for a nap and disappeared into the guest bedroom. She’d actually confided in me on the day of their arrival at the beginning of summer that she was newly pregnant. Hoping for a girl, Jason had beamed proudly. Jason had been doting on her the whole trip. And so this evening, Jason announced he was taking charge of dinner and grilling steaks, while J.B. and Eric made a mess in the kitchen sorting out the sides. I retreated upstairs, leaving Tara sitting in the yard with a beer watching the kids play with Bonnie.

I stood leaning against the frame of my bedroom window, watching as Billy and Mitchell wrestled out on the lawn and Tara yelled out pointers to them both. The phone, pressed against my ear, rang half a dozen times before my call was finally picked up. 

“Oh my God. Hi stranger!” She sounded puffed. 

“Hi, Amelia.” 

“You’re not going to believe this, but I was just thinking of you!” I heard some movement in the background of wherever she was, a door shutting, and the ambient sound suddenly diminished to nothing. 

“Universe works in mysterious ways, I guess,” I said. “Have you got a minute to talk?” 

She laughed. “Do you even know me? I always have a minute to talk and then some. Dad has been trying to vet me for this position in the company and it’s going predictably bad. Just ugh..." She groaned. "I’m looking for any excuse to escape.” 

“Well… I need to borrow your ear for a minute.” I explained my run-in with the Professor at the lake earlier that day. 

“I can’t say I’ve heard of him or the institute. They are out this way, though.” 

“Well… That’s kinda what I figured.” Amelia moved back to Philadelphia after the snow season finished up.

“I haven’t told anyone!” she said defensively, her words leaping out to fill the silence. “If that’s what you’re thinking. Other than my coven high priestess, which you already know. Have you talked to Octavia?”

I snorted softly. “She was the first person I called.” And she’d had no idea too. 

“Have you looked up that web address?” Amelia asked. 

I rested my forehead against the glass and resisted the urge to sigh. “No. Kinda feels like tempting fate.” 

“Alright, how about you read out the address to me and I’ll look it up for you? I’ll tell you if I think it’s legit or not.” 

I dutifully read out the web address. Amelia was silent for what felt like hours while I paced the hardwood floors of my bedroom. 

“He looks like the real deal, Sookie,” she finally said after some minutes had passed. 

I took a shaky breath. Exactly what I was afraid of.

“It’s a research institute. He's the professor of psychology at the neighboring college. Got his PhD originally in abnormal psychology. And the college and this institute? Looks like they collaborate to produce a biannual psychology journal, focusing on para-psychology but nothing too… woo woo, if you know what I mean.” 

“Not really, no.” I walked back to the window, resuming my previous post. Bonnie was now trying to playfully jump on top of the boys and Tara was trying to drag her off, though she laughed loudly while doing so.

“Well,” Amelia said, “one article discusses evaluation tools for studying psychic phenomena using empirical evidence, another is looking at EVPs – ya know, ghosts speaking on digital recordings – discussing how it’s captured and its legitimacy, another looks at the role of paranoia and anxiety disorders in the incidence of perceived paranormal experiences.” 

“Alright, alright... Okay.” I took a deep breath. 

“Wow. He’s a bit of a silver fox, too.” She let out a low wolf whistle. 

“Oh yeah, he’s totally got that late 90s Richard Gere vibe going on.” 

“Are you going to contact him?” 

Amelia accepted my silent response for all of three seconds before letting out a sound of exasperation. “That whole time you were dealing with Eurynomos, weren’t you looking for someone who had the answers? Well, here is you’re someone. _Someone_ who could actually help.”

“But everything’s fine now,” I protested. “I don’t need help anymore.” 

“Honestly? Isn’t this a no-brainer for you? You might think you don’t need help; but to me, it seems like he has answers - or at least more knowledge about the nightmare you went through. And if anyone knows what your future holds well, surely it’s going to be someone who studies psychic phenomena for a living.” 

I thudded my head dully against the glass in resignation. She was right, of course. 

*******

Eric and I lay stretched out in bed and sweaty, my head pressed against his bare chest. In one ear, I could hear the steady thump of his heart; in the other, it was the night sounds filtering through the screen door leading to the balcony. Crickets, the warm breeze, the sound of the pine quills gently rushing.

I traced my fingers along the length of Eric’s arm. All of his limbs were long, so long; the act was a mini-marathon for my fingertips. They traversed the rise and fall of bicep then elbow joint and then the elongated forearm muscles, moved through a roughened patch of blonde arm hair, then over the rigid bumps of tendons on the back of his hand, and finally his knuckles. Then my fingers turned back the way they came retracing their path back up to his shoulder. 

“I can feel you thinking,” he mumbled. His eyes were closed, Eric still lost in that sea of post-coitus floating. 

“No you can’t,” I said with a soft laugh. 

“I can,” he said, sounding slightly more wakeful. “It feels like a thought bubble with a big black scribble drawn inside.” 

My fingers stopped, and I pinched him lightly. 

“Hey, ow!” he said, trying to squirm away. “Play nice!” 

“That’s funny,” I said innocently. “When you wanted to play before, you definitely said nothing about being nice…”

He growled softly and rolled me onto him so we were chest to chest. We were almost nose to nose too. He kissed me and wrapped his calves around mine, locking my legs in place. 

“What’s up?” he said. 

“Is that a trick question?” 

He laughed but still managed to give me a stern look.

“Fine… Fine. I’m just thinking about how you liked me and pursued me despite all the seriously effed up crap going on in my life.” 

“Of course,” he said as if there wasn’t any other alternative.

“But…” I paused to take a deep breath, to resolve myself. “It’s crap that goes so far beyond any acceptable level of new relationship baggage that, that I’m…” I chewed my lip, searching for the right word. 

“You’re what?” The playful banter from his tone died out.

“I’m wondering when it stops being acceptable?” 

“When what stops being acceptable?” 

“I’m not explaining myself well.” I pushed myself up on my elbow so I could see him better. “I love you, but if Euronymous was only a taste of things to come, then I completely understand, accept, and, ugh--” I groused, annoyed at my own pragmatism. I really, really just wanted to be selfish. “-–encourage you to go and do your own thing. Without me.” 

“Sookie…” His brows pinched close together and his hands rose to cradle my cheeks. The crickets continued their chorus through his thoughtful silence and then he finally spoke. “We are having this conversation once – now – and never again. You’re it for me, funky toes. ‘It’ as in _The End_. Roll credits. Happily ever after. You know that. I know you know that. I would follow you into the depths of hell if I had to. And one day, I’m going to get to you agree to marry me, and even if some bloody demon is the one to walk you down the aisle and give you away, it would still be the happiest day of my life. I need to know you understand. Tell me you understand that.” 

I opened my mouth to speak but words escaped me. They simply vanished out of existence with a pop. Well. Leave it to my author to render me utterly speechless. So I nodded. 

“Good.” 

We kissed again, his hands on my cheeks gentle yet uncompromising. When we parted, I couldn’t help my smile. My heart threatened to split in two, I was so happy. Stupidly happy. I mean, I get it. It’s not the kind of heartfelt declaration that you’d see in a rom-com, but it’s not often that a man declares he’d follow you into the depths of hell and actually, literally mean it. 

“I would do the same for you,” I said. “Except I’d be dragging us straight back outta hell, because I know you can’t stand the heat.” 

“Well, that’s true. I’m more than happy to let you be my knight in shining armor. I’ve seen how pro you are at defeating demons.” He said it with a knowing grin, and I began laughing knowing exactly where this punchline was headed. “I mean, look at how swiftly you helped me deal with Freyda.” 

“She’s less demon and more … succubus.” 

“Not nearly so appealing,” he scoffed. “More like ice bitch… Vampire queen.” 

“So, will you come with me to meet him?” 

He knew exactly who I was talking about.

“Like you could ditch me that easily,” he said. 

*******

Early the next evening, we were seated across from Leonard Keene in the small, generically furnished bar of the Marriott hotel. 

“I’m honestly surprised you met with me so soon,” Keene said. This evening he was sans tie, the top button of his white shirt undone, blazer also unbuttoned. I had a sneaking suspicious this was about as casual as his casual wear got. 

I shrugged tersely and took a sip of my soda water. “Well. Better to rip off the band-aid, I suppose. And I reserve the right to leave at any time.” 

“Of course,” he responded reasonably. 

“And I’m the one that going to be asking the questions.”

“By all means,” he said, gesturing with an open hand. “You hold the court. You have control.” His face was calm, though his dark eyes were assessing. He wasn’t trying to form an opinion of me. Just trying to make sense of me. My therapist had the same expression. 

I felt the prickle of tension begin to goose-pimple my arms and Eric, perhaps sensing this, began with his own line of questioning. 

“How did you find out about Sookie? Who told you?” 

“A coven who reside in Philly.” 

“Any affiliation with Amelia Broadway?” I asked. 

“Can’t say I’m familiar with every member. The high priestess is Josephine Schultz.” 

Eric turned to me and I nodded slightly in response. That name was for sure the woman I’d heard Amelia mention countless times before. At least that answered the question of how he found out about me. 

“So tell me, what is it exactly that you think you know about me?” 

“You moved out to relative isolation after a life-changing event. You were emotionally and mentally vulnerable and came into contact with something otherworldly. Or perhaps you conjured a tulpa.”

“A tulpa?” 

“The term is Tibetan. It refers to a creation or embodiment of something spiritual brought into being by mental powers.” 

“Wait… What?” I made a disbelieving sound. “You think it was a figment of my imagination?” 

“I saw it. Multiple people saw it,” Eric said. He draped his arm around the back of my chair. And it had been damned hard to explain away. Other than Eric and I, Kenya was the only other surviving person to see it. We'd agreed to never speak of it. Never mention it to other. Kenya claimed she planned to never even think about it again. She was deeply shaken. She still refused to look me in the eye. We told authorities that wolves had attacked Sam after he was shot and dragged him into the woods. The fact they found his body a couple miles away deep in the forest, and practically picked clean of flesh, seemed to support that. Not even Tara questioned it.

“A tulpa is a being as real as you or I. It is not a figment of the imagination, per se. It is simply created through one’s mind.”

“At the time,” I began, “I dedicated many, many sleepless nights to thinking about what I was going through…” I took a long sip of my drink, the points of my argument forming in my mind. “I had outside confirmation of what it was before anyone else had seen or experienced it. I saw a listing of the being in an ancient grimoire. The girls’ bones in the cave were picked clean it - to me that all suggests that the “being” existed long before I had cause or reason to think about it.” 

Keene nodded with satisfaction. “I agree. Eurynomos.” 

I nodded too, though I felt my stomach turn over with nerves. What was it? Hearing that name again? Or the fact someone knowledgeable with some sort of authority on the subject was affirming my experience? I reached down and squeezed Eric’s thigh. Amelia was right. This felt big. Useful. 

“So what are your motivations for being here?” I asked. “You want me to be some sort of test subject?” I pictured being cooped up in a stuffy office spending weeks detailing my experience, being hooked up to machines while my brain waves were scanned. “I’ve read a little of the journal you publish... It’s very science-based, lots of data analysis.” 

“I have my work, Ms. Stackhouse, and I have my interests. They appear combined, but they are in fact running quite parallel to one another. One funds the other.” 

“Okay… So in plain terms?” 

“Have you ever seen or read about true-life accounts of possessions or exorcisms?” 

I shook my head. “Nothing more than what I’ve seen in TV and movies.”

“I don’t mean the over the top Catholicized variety where impressionable young teens dealing with serious mental health issues are denied health care and instead doused with holy water and prayed over. I’m referring to humans who suffer as literal hosts for demons and malevolent spirits.” 

He opened his wallet and slid across a faded picture of a young boy and girl, the boy was dressed as a cowboy pointing a toy gun at the camera and the girl was in diapers, sitting on the ground with a teddy. 

“The baby is my younger sister. She died when she was 15… My parents, they had no idea what was happening, they thought she was having a breakdown but I saw things I couldn’t explain. Furniture moving on it own, she spoke in voices that did not originate from her throat, she spoke in riddles… Shared details of things she could not have possibly known. By the time it was clear it was not of this world her body gave out. She died.” I picked up the photo and traced my thumb across the infant’s face. She was chubby-cheeked, her eyes trained on her smiling brother. “That’s what drew my interest in this field. And yes, it’s one thing to study it… It’s another thing to actually assist the victims.” 

“I’m not a victim,” I said, handing the photograph back. If there was one thing I was certain of, it was that. 

“No, but I believe you are a very rare specimen, Sookie. You are a medium of sorts. An in-between.” 

“A conduit…” I murmured and he nodded deeply. 

“Yes, a conduit. Rather like a communication rod between life and death.” He flipped open his briefcase and retrieved a manila file, placing it on the table between us. “Would you help others, if given the chance?” 

“Others… people like your sister?” 

“Yes, people like that. Or homes and objects mired down by bad energy from presences unable to move on. Resolve cold cases, assist in the investigations of missing peoples. Help identify John and Jane Does.” 

“I don’t know… I really doubt I can even be much use to you.” I shook my head slowly. “I kind of feel like my assistance with the murders relied on a right place at the right time approach.”

“Open the file.” 

I opened the file, inside was a stack of printed notes with a family photo sitting on top. It was one of those professional shots you could get done at department stores. I dated the photo to the early 90s, purely going off the hairstyles.

“Who are they?” 

“Hermanez family. 1989. They died as a result of a fire. The grounds where their home once stood exhibit an incredible amount of ambient electromagnetic fields. We’ve collected numerous convincing EVPs there also. Local fire investigators ruled the fire accidental, but arson investigative techniques and forensics have advanced significantly since then. Many obvious clues were overlooked. Locals believe it was arson. Their extended family believe it was arson. The home was never rebuilt. And any construction efforts have resulted in catastrophic failure, injury and even loss of life.” 

I shook my head again and pushed the file back towards him. “I can’t. I – I really can’t. My experience fucked me up. I couldn’t sleep, I could barely function. I was making poor decisions.” 

He smiled kindly and removed the file from the table, returning it to his briefcase. 

“Understandable. But what if you had a team of people working with you? Those who could guide you and ensure your ability was channeled in a healthy manner, within a controlled and safe environment. You would be free to leave at any time, free to extricate yourself from the situation at any point.” 

I nervously tapped my fingertips against the tabletop. I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly. This was too much. Too overwhelming. I couldn’t think, even just the noise of the bar crowded my ability to form a clear though. 

“Sookie, have you wondered the implications of if your experience truly was ‘right time, right place’?” 

I opened my eyes again and simply blinked at him. 

“I don’t follow,” Eric said. 

“What if you stumble into the right place again? Or, as I suspect, _you_ are the right place and things are drawn to you. How will you cope? How will you handle it?” 

I pinched my lips shut and shook my head slowly. The thought was chilling. Incapacitating.

“I have the means to help you, Ms. Stackhouse. If you wish to learn only coping strategies, then that is perfectly acceptable. I am happy to assist. And the rest of this?” He patted his briefcase. “This can be secondary. Optional. Entirely up to you.” 

“And if I do choose to help you? What kind of scenario do you envision?” 

“Your time will be paid. I’m a professor and engaged heavily in research, so my time is fairly limited, but I will call upon you for perhaps a week or two here and there throughout the year. I run the institute with another colleague, Miles Gott. Together, we can be flexible and work out a suitable schedule.” 

Afterward, Eric bought me ice-cream. Double scoop macadamia and white chocolate. For himself, he chose chocolate fudge. We walked the streets of Chester as the sun set. 

“I feel like I’m trapped in some weird Fargo-Stranger Things crossover.” I couldn’t get the image of the family out of my head. Or the thought I would be dragged into more paranormal BS regardless of it I wanted it or not.

“I think you’re safe from the Upside Down.” 

“Are you sure about that?” I asked giving him the side eye. 

“Oh… Fairly sure.” 

“Then maybe I just need to move to Minnesota and start looking for a briefcase full of cash.” I sighed and threw my soiled napkin into a garbage can as we passed it. 

“Maybe we just need to change the narrative? Take control of the story.” 

“And so how do we do that, Mr. Author?” 

“We look for inspiration around us.” He grinned and waggled his brows. 

“I’m not flashing you in public,” I grumbled. 

“Well… How about the next best thing?”

He took me by the hand and, despite my protests, walked me to the top of Chester’s main street. There, at the bend in the road, lay a small leafy park - one I’d never seen before. He sat me down on a park bench facing the mountain and we watched the sunset project onto Mt. Rayner in shades of orange and pink to an eventual pale twilight blue. 

The overwhelming view collected my anxious whirling thoughts and scattered them to the wind. Who knew what would happen? Who knew if my so-called ability would affect me again, or if I’d even be of any use to Leonard Keene and his institute? Maybe this panic was all for nothing. But, then again, what if his warning did come true?

“How’s this for a different narrative?” I said, once I found my voice. Eric turned to me, curiosity and the last light of day coloring his handsome features. “I sort out the house in Shreveport, leave it for sale with a realtor. Then we buy a big camper, something cheesy and retro that’s going to tick all your wanderlust boxes. Hell, you can even get a dodgy acoustic guitar that you can pretend you know how to play. We make our way slowly back to New York in time for your next launch. We have fun, we sightsee, we fight, we… do other adult things. Then before we hit city limits, we detour and stop by the professor’s institute.” 

“My great American road trip?” Eric’s smile was broad and sure. 

“Mine and Bonnie’s too.” 

“You know, they say if you want to know how you really feel about someone the best thing to do is take a road trip with them.” He brushed my hair back from my cheek, tucking it behind an ear.

“Having second thoughts about my funky toes, Northman?” 

“Never.” He pulled me onto his lap and kissed me deeply. “And then what?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly. 

“You tell me,” I said. “How do you finish a story like that?” 

He answered immediately. “With a happy ending.” 

“I don’t know, isn’t that too cheesy?” I wrapped my arms around his neck, reveling in his warmth and good spirits, reveling in the fact that this was the life I was living. This one right here, where I was loved and alive and the future was there just waiting for us.

“It’s not cheesy if it’s deserved.”

“What even is a happy ending, anyway?” The question was meant to be rhetorical; but to my surprise, I found the answer came easily. “It’s a life well lived.” 

Maybe a happy ending was less about the happy part and more about making the most of every facet of your life, even the not-so-great parts. You know, those parts that include grief and heartache… and even the parts with crazy paranormal encounters. 

“Okay,” Eric said decisively. “Then let’s live it well.” 

I could do that. It was no longer a hope or an uncertainty or something just out of reach. I could really, truly do that.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all my readers - for your support, kudos, views, and all your thought-provoking and inspiring comments big and small. I hope you enjoyed this story and the crazy ride it took you on. I can't believe it's finally come to an end. One I hope was as satisfying for you as it was for me. I'm feeling a little misty-eyed that it's all over!
> 
> I love writing for this fandom and don't plan on stopping any time soon. So keep your eye out for more SVM/TB fics in the near future.


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